


The Two Students

by mycake



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, F/M, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock, M/M, Mycroft-centric, Recreational Drug Use, Teenlock, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycake/pseuds/mycake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage Mycroft has suddenly lost all power and control over his life when he's uprooted and moved to Liverpool to attend day school at the ward's second poorest high school. He gets involved with a gang of unruly teenagers all with absent parents. The kids have no supervision and are free to roam the streets looking for trouble and they certainly find it. </p>
<p>This story features drugs, sex, and rock n' roll. It's just the loveliest coming of age tale for the whole fam! (Ages 16+)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft gave himself one last look over, straightened his tie, plucked a piece of lint off his grey pullover, and pulled his blazer in tight. He couldn’t help but scowl at himself in the mirror. His shoes were worth more than his entire uniform. The patch on his breast pocket was cheap, an iron-on; everything about his uniform screamed lower-class.

_Parklands High School_

His mother wanted to get away, Liverpool sounded far enough. She uprooted their now rather small family and purchased a three bedroom semi-detached home near Notre Dame Catholic College. Mycroft was suddenly considering changing his faith.

He let out a slow and controlled breath and composed himself. He stepped out of his en suite bathroom and heard a faint scratching sound at his door. “Sherlock!” He shouted. He stormed out of the room to see Sherlock smiling brightly with an indelible marker in hand.

“Oh for God’s sake, Sherlock! Give me that.” He snatched the pen from Sherlock’s hand and looked over the door.

_MICROFTS A WILLY_

Mycroft pulled the cap off the pen and changed the ‘I’ to a ‘Y’ and put an apostrophe in its proper place.

“Seven years old and you can’t even spell your own brother’s name." He said tossing Sherlock the pen. "They’re going to have to sacrifice you to God at Saint John’s.” Mycroft tutted.

“Why do I have to go to Catholic school?” Sherlock groaned and slammed his head against Mycroft’s door.

“Sherlock! Don’t bash your head in. It is just about the only good thing you have going for you.” He lifted his younger brother’s head away from the door.

“I’m gonna be smited.”

“You’re not going to be struck down by the holy hand, I was only joking about the sacrifices.”

“Jesus doesn’t love me.” Sherlock sulked.

“Oh put on your jumper and stop being such a prat.”

“Why do you have to drop me off so _early?_ ”

“My school is thirty minutes away, I need to take two buses, and I will _not_ be late on my first day.”

“Why does it have to be so far?” Sherlock groaned as he stamped his feet.

“It was the only school that had an opening for my age.”  Mycroft huffed.

“I’ll be there for _ages._ ”

“Thirty minutes prior.

“ _Thirty-five.”_ Sherlock corrected.

“Those extra five minutes are killer.” Mycroft jeered.

“And fifteen minutes after, can’t mummy take me?”

“She’s sleeping Sherlock, please.” He started ushering his brother down the stairs.

“Did you pack lunch?”

Mycroft gave him a look. “No.”

“I’m not eating cafeteria food.”

“Fine, put your shoes on, the dress ones, no trainers. And for God’s sake where’s your jumper?”

“Washed it.”

“Washed it?” Sherlock pointed to the bathroom. Mycroft opened the door and saw standing water on the floor. “Sherlock! Bloody... Arg!” He shouted turning the sink’s tap off. He pulled out the soaking wet blue jumper. Sherlock was giggling and fighting back a smile.

“Guess I can’t go to school now.” He laughed. Mycroft shoved the wet sweater in his brother’s hands.

“Put it on.”

“But.” Sherlock pulled it away and revealed his wet shirt and tie. “It’s wet.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

* * *

Mycroft arrived to registration late and with damp trousers. Sherlock never hugged him unless he was ill or soaking wet. He kept letting out his controlled breaths to keep from snapping. He looked around at the riff-raff. The school was the second poorest in the ward and he really didn’t want to see the poorest. The halls were packed with unruly children, shoving into one another, and shouting.

He looked over his schedule and quirked an eyebrow.

_Business?_

He rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t they do lessons like they did at his last school? He had no choice over foreign language; he was already fluent in French. He supposed it would be just like English, nobody from the area seemed to speak it properly.

On the way to first period a fellow classmate bumped up against him none-too-gently and knocked his schedule out of his hands.

“Watch it.” The massive boy said as his mates stood around and laughed. They all walked off together. Mycroft went to pick up his paper when another boy strolled up along-side him and threw a pen at the back of the other boy’s head.

“Oi!” The boy shouted. Mycroft looked up at the boy who had come to his defence. His jet black hair was sticking straight up and he had his shirt half un-tucked and he wasn’t wearing the mandatory grey pullover.

The tow-headed boy stormed back to throw the dark haired boy against the wall. “Look you little piss-”

The dark haired boy kneed him hard in the groin and while he was reeling in pain, he grabbed Mycroft’s hand and ran off with him. They flew out the front doors together and ran to hide behind the bins.

The dark haired boy ran his hands through his hair and let out a laugh. “Fuck, he’s gonna be well pissed off!”

“You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Ah, don’t mention it.” He laughed.

“I mean... really.”

The boy gave him a look of disgust and scoffed, “Right, the thanks I get.” He turned to leave. The boy licked his lips and looked pensive. “You doing anything? After school?”

“I-“

“Look, we’re all going to the beach later, n’ I need a date.”

“What?” Mycroft asked aghast.

“I need a date.” He repeated. “You, me.” He pointed between the two of them. “God, if you’re not a poof, swear, shoot me now cos-“

“I’m... I can’t.” Mycroft blushed and looked away.

“Right.” The boy let out a sigh and shoved his hands in his pockets. “At least have lunch wiv us.” He practically begged. Mycroft pursed his lips and thought. He nodded and the boy smiled. Mycroft’s heart gave a little flutter and he felt slightly faint.

He sat through business in a sort of dreamy haze. He’d never actually had friends to sit with at lunch before, let alone a date. He had to figure out some sort of arrangement for Sherlock.  

He couldn’t well leave Sherlock alone on his first day. All throughout history he thought up ways to get out of picking up Sherlock. During break he was near tackled by the boy with dark hair.

“Hey, forgot, name’s Greg. See you at lunch then.” He was panting and smiling brightly at Mycroft. The boy had amazing teeth.

“Um yeah.” Mycroft felt postively flustered. Greg ran off in the other direction to throw himself into the middle of a group of students. Mycroft swallowed hard.

Mycroft was bored to tears in technology. He kept idly swivelling back and forth in his computer chair. They were doing a refresher on everything; he was surprised the teachers didn’t do a refresher on how to breathe.

Mycroft entered the cafeteria and looked at the scene in horror. He felt a hand clamp on to his shoulder. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was Greg.

“We’re outside, sod this.” He said pulling Mycroft away by the hand. He laced their fingers together and dragged Mycroft to the courtyard where there was a small circle of students seated with their packed lunches. “Food here’s shit, here share mine.” Greg shoved his brown paper bag into Mycroft’s hands. He placed a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder as they sat.

“Fuck’s sake, you’re serious then?” A dark-skinned girl with frizzy hair asked in shock.

“Um...” Greg pointed to Mycroft and opened his mouth to speak but shut it. “The fuck’s your name anyhow?”

“Mycroft.”

“Right, Michael here is my boyfriend.” Greg said pulling the paper bag away from Mycroft.

“So he’s coming to the beach with us?” The girl said looking Mycroft over.

Before Mycroft could answer Greg said, “ _Yeah_.” With a snarky tone. He pulled out a sandwich and ripped it in half making a grand mess of it. He handed Mycroft half and started shoving his half in his mouth. Mycroft took a few small bites. “Right, best be proper n’ shit. Introductions. Everybody, Mike, Mike, Everybody.” A few kids gave a nod, others ignored him completely. “Ah shit, you can’t be Mike, Mike’s Mike.”

“Just call me Dimmock then.” The other Mike said giving Greg a look.

“Nah he’s Mike A, you’re Mike B.”

“What? No! I came first.”

“Bet you did.” Greg laughed.

“Piss off.” Mike said throwing his crumpled up bag at Greg.

“He said his name is Mycroft you git.” The dark-skinned girl piped up.

“What kind of name is Mycroft?” Greg asked.

“So fucking rude, Greg. Thought he was your boyfriend.”

“Shut it, Sally.”

“You don’t even know his name!”

“Sod names, all that matters is lurve. In’t that right Mikey?” Greg said giving Mycroft a pat on the thigh.

“Susie’s gonna be there.” Sally said crossing her arms. Greg’s lips twitched into a smirk.

“Oh is she now?” He took another bite of his sandwich. Sally let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. “Wait, who the fuck’s this.” Greg said pointing to a young boy eating with them.

“Oh God, just ignore em.” Sally groaned. “It’s John Watson, babysat em, one bloody time. Won’t stop stalking me.”

“Piss off kid!” Greg said shooing him with his hand.

“Greg, he’s fine.” Sally said with a sigh.

“What the fuck? What is he twelve?”

“Eleven.” Sally said with another sigh.

“He cannot come with us to the beach.”

“He nicked us a pack of cigarettes.”

“John! My boy.” Greg reached out to hug John who swallowed his sandwich hard. He ran his knuckles through John’s fair-hair. “You rascal you!” He stood abruptly. “Alright who’s having a smoke then?” He started pointing to his supposed mates. “Fuck you, fuck you, and especially fuck you. Sally, Mike A, Mike B, Johnny boy, come on.” His three cast out mates looked at him in disgust. “Right, Toby, you too.” He motioned with his thumb.

They walked single file to the back of the school and hid near the bins. John pulled out the pack of Malboros and Greg snatched it away. “Where’d you get this? It’s still in its wrapping! My boy, John!” He tousled John’s hair again. “You scoundrel, you.”

“Nicked em from my sister.” He said in a small voice. Mycroft felt a pang of guilt. He looked scarcely older than Sherlock, yet the boy was lighting up the first cigarette like he’d done it loads of times.

Greg put two in his mouth and lit up both. He handed one off the Mycroft who looked at it before putting it to his lips. He took in small puffs and managed not to hack and cough. He felt a flutter in his chest and a light-headedness.

Mike B, Sally, and Toby snuffed out their cigarettes and started walking back inside.

“You are coming right?” Greg asked with an innocent look on his face.

“I have to pick up my brother.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Saint John’s.”

“Fuck!” Greg ran his hand through his hair. “Johnny boy. How far are you from Saint John’s?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged.

“Go pick up Mike’s brother. What time?”

“Three fifteen.” Mycroft said in shock.

“Three fifteen.” Greg repeated.

“But... my-“

“What’s his name?” Greg asked.

“Sherlock.”

“Shit.” He snorted. “You serious?” He laughed. “Right his brother, _Sherlock,_ three fifteen. Here right down your address.” Greg tore a strip of paper off his schedule and handed Mycroft a pen.

* * *

Mycroft left his final period a shaking mess. Greg met him outside of science and started walking with him to the front door. He was led to an idling jeep and was crammed in the back with Greg, Sally, and Mike B. Greg pulled Mycroft on his lap to allow more room. Mycroft felt a knot in his stomach and lump in his throat.

The boy driving was a maniac. Greg kept shouting “Anderson!” Every time they hit a dip too hard and Mycroft went flying. Greg held him tighter and Mycroft thought he was going to faint from the excitement of it all.

They reached the beach in one piece and met up with another pack of students that had a cooler.

“You smoke?” Greg asked.

Mycroft looked at him strange. Did he not see him smoking not three hours ago?

“Yes?” Mycroft queried.

“Great.” Greg said with a smile. They started walking under a pier. Greg plopped down in the cold sand and started removing his shoes and undoing his tie. Mycroft took a seat next to him. The other kids formed a circle, opened up the cooler; and started passing around the beer.

Mycroft held the bottle in his hand. He’d only had sips of wine before. Greg used his shirt to twist his cap open and Mycroft followed suit. He brought the bottle to his lips and grimaced at the taste.

“I know, Australian, its fucking piss water.” Greg laughed as he leaned back on to his elbows. Mycroft tried to keep up with the back and forth chatter but he couldn’t follow what half of them were saying. He finished his beer and felt light-headed once more.

“Look who it is, Greg.” Sally teased as a young girl with oriental features made her way across the beach with a boy in tow.

Greg lunged at Mycroft and near knocked their teeth together. He started straight into an aggressive open-mouthed snog under the pier and Mycroft was left speechless. He’d never been kissed before; the sensation was nothing like he thought it would be like. It was wet but not entirely unpleasant.

Greg hummed and licked at Mycroft’s lower lip. When he thrust his tongue into Mycroft’s mouth Mycroft was a bit taken aback. He could hear all the “Oohs.” And Sally saying “Aw yuck.” Greg leaned more into the kiss, entwining their legs together.

Greg pulled away suddenly. “Susie, Phil, what a surprise.” Susie looked at him with a scowl. “This is my _boyfriend_ , Mark.” Greg grabbed Mycroft’s hand. “Now if you don’t mind, we’re gonna go finish what we started.”

He pulled Mycroft up the hill near the pier and started laughing his head off. “Did ya see her face? I mean, it was like.” Greg imitated her wide-eyed shock. “Man, wish I had a camera.”

“You wanted to make your ex jealous?” Mycroft asked wringing his hands.

“Not just jealous, fucking traumatized. Birds think they’ve turned a boy gay, destroys their self confidence, ya know? Well don’t give me that look. Bitch deserves it. Running off with Phil. Caught em PE, going at it. What?”

Mycroft felt like his blood had turned to ice. He should have known it was too good to be true. He balled his hands into fists and started walking up the hill on his own.

“Where you going?”

“Home.” Mycroft said plainly.

“Max.” Greg whined.

“Mycroft.” He snapped. “And don’t pretend like you don’t know my name. You know full well what it is. You are just some wannabe bad boy whose mum still writes his name in his shirts.” Greg checked his collar and pushed his tag down. “She even had you tuck in your shirt this morning, how sweet.” Mycroft tutted. “Probably even had a fight over the pullover? Because Greg’s a _big boy_ now, he doesn’t have to listen to his mummy. Oh I know I’ll ruck up my shirt! That’ll show her.” Mycroft shook his head and gritted his teeth. “My baby brother is more mature than you and he’s in primary school.” Mycroft let out a sigh. “I should have never come out here.”

Mycroft stormed off.

“Can I see you again?” Greg asked sheepishly from half-way up the hill.

“Get a good look, Gregory.” Mycroft said motioning to himself. “Because this is the last you’ll _see_ of me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft walked in the house to see John and Sherlock playing with Sherlock’s brand new chemistry set.

“John, you really didn’t have to stay.”

“I don’t mind.” John said looking over the instructions while Sherlock mindlessly mixed acids and bases.

“My father got me this set. It’s for ages eight and up.” Sherlock said proudly.

Mycroft didn’t want to hear Sherlock idolizing their father. Mycroft stormed up the stairs and started pounding on his mother’s door. “Mummy, it’s five.” He opened the door and saw his mother still curled up in bed, asleep. He went to check her pulse and she pulled away. “Sherlock’s home.”

“Where’ve you been?” She asked with a grumble.

“I... met with some friends after school.” He said shuffling his foot against the floor.

“I’ll get up in a bit.” She said dismissing him. Mycroft let out a heavy sigh and walked down the stairs.

“John, I’m taking you home, where do you live?”

“No!” Sherlock shouted. “We’re not done yet.”

“Sherlock, don’t argue with me, go put your shoes on.”

“I’ll pour acid on you.” Sherlock threatened, holding the Erlenmeyer flask up for him to see.

“Yes and the strongest acid in that set probably had a pH of six, which you’ve probably neutralized by mixing all the chemicals together.”

“I wanted it to explode.” Sherlock said with a pout.

“I have some roman candles and multi-shot barrages at my place.” John said excitedly. Sherlock rushed to grab his shoes.

“Do your parents ever watch you?” Mycroft asked with disgust.

“It’s just my sister n’ me.” John said swirling one of the flasks.

Mycroft bit his tongue. Sherlock came thundering down the stairs in his trainers. They took two buses back to John’s flat which was only a few blocks away from Parklands. They stayed outside while John went in to change. He came rushing down in a corded jumper and jeans.

“When can we light the fireworks?” Sherlock asked excited.

“After dinner.”

“Sod that.”

“Sherlock!”

They sat on the kerb in front of John’s flat and ate crisps and sweets for dinner. Sherlock refused to eat McDonalds or anything that wasn’t pure sugar. Sherlock was jumping up and down with unbridled enthusiasm. It was the happiest Mycroft had seen Sherlock in a while. Their mother’s depression seemed to suck the joy out of the house.

Sherlock needed boundaries and consistency in his life but for now he had Mycroft who was dealing with his own identity crisis. John lit off the first firework and Mycroft laughed at the wonder on Sherlock’s face. They lit off another four before they heard police sirens and had to run into the flat. Sherlock and John were giggling like little school girls and had to press their backs against the wall to keep from falling over.

Mycroft felt oddly distant. He’d had just about half a dozen firsts in one day. He’d smoked, had a beer, been kissed, had his first boyfriend, lost his first boyfriend, and all of it happened on the first day of school. He bid John farewell and took Sherlock home as the police sirens started fading into the distance.

After three hours of fighting, Sherlock fell asleep at midnight and Mycroft crawled into bed completely exhausted. He woke up briefly at two in the morning when he heard his mother making a racket, hoovering in the middle of the night. He groaned and rolled back over and tried to fall asleep.

He hit the snooze button eight times before he finally got up. He had to rush to get Sherlock out the door.

“You didn’t pack lunch.” Sherlock whined, still half asleep. His face was filthy and he was wearing his shoes on the wrong feet.

“You’re old enough, pack your own lunch.”

“I can’t use the real knives.”

“Sherlock... last night I let you light off roman candles with stick matches. You near took off an eyebrow, remember? Do you really believe a little knife has me worried?”

“If I stab my eyes out-“

“Then we’ll get a guide dog, you’ve always wanted a puppy!” Mycroft said with false enthusiasm.

Mycroft successfully avoided Greg and his crew of misfits for the first half of the day. While he was running laps in PE he noticed a boy pacing him. He looked over and groaned.

“Look, I’m real sorry. What I did was well bad.” Greg started. Mycroft sped up. “Hold up!” Mycroft broke into a sprint. Greg easily caught up with him. Mycroft ran as fast his legs would carry him. Both boys broke out in front of the pack and finished well before the hoard.

“That’s the spirit! On to press ups.” The PE teacher said giving both boys a pat on the back. Mycroft near fell over from exhaustion. Mycroft panted and lay on the floor, doing feeble half press-ups. Greg had military form and was performing them with ease.

“I’d really like to make it up to ya. We’re having a smoke, at mine. No Susie, course.”

“Piss... off...” Mycroft panted.

“It won’t cost ya.” Greg stayed down a moment. “Please.” He said with a pout.

“Leave me alone.” Mycroft spat, lifting himself up into a sitting position.

“Not until I make it up. And you’ll find I’m a persistent little fuck. Won’t leave you alone ‘til you say yes.”

“Fine.” Mycroft said with a huff.

Greg met Mycroft after school and they started walking to Greg’s house. “Glad you changed your mind.” Greg said with a smile. “Here, lemme help you with those.” Greg grabbed Mycroft’s books. Mycroft sighed and kept walking, shuffling his feet.

Greg went up to the gate and unlatched it. They walked around to the back of the house and Mycroft looked around the garden that desperately needed tending. Greg pulled open the storm doors and led Mycroft down to the sub-basement.

The fluorescent lights flickered on and Mycroft felt an eerie chill. The basement was unfinished with exposed beams and bare walls. There were three beat-up sofas set up in the middle of the room. Greg walked over to the turn-table and started going through a stack of records.

“Iggy Pop?”

“What?” Mycroft asked as Greg put the record on.

“Others won’t be round ‘til four. Smoke a bowl with me?” Greg pulled a plastic baggie out of his pocket and Mycroft’s heart dropped.

“Oh.” He felt stupid for following Greg home. Greg walked over to a sofa and plopped down. He withdrew a glass pipe and Mycroft felt all his nerves firing at once. His head was screaming at him to stop and say ‘no’. He felt sick to his stomach just looking at the stuff. Greg started loading the bowl. He evened it out and brought it to his lips. He started lighting it. He sucked in a breath and held it.

He started coughing and laughing. “S’good, try some.” Against Mycroft’s better judgement he sat down next to Greg and took the pipe. “Thumb goes here.” Greg placed Mycroft’s thumb over the hole. He gave it a test and nothing happened. “Hold up.” Greg held the end for him. “Suck.” Mycroft sucked in and immediately started coughing.

It felt like his whole throat went dry and he was completely hoarse. Greg chuckled, took it away from him, and started smoking again. His eyes started glazing over. “Give it another try.” He said passing the pipe back to Mycroft. This time he was able to get more than a few drags in. He wasn’t feeling any different, which was strange.

He passed the pipe back to Greg. “Whoa, you look real high.” He laughed at Mycroft. Mycroft looked around, if anything he was hyper-aware of his settings. He still wasn’t feeling any kind of effect. He took the pipe back. “Nah, nah, you’re good.” Mycroft shrugged it off.

Greg placed the pipe in an ashtray on the side table. “C’mere.” He said lying down on the sofa. Mycroft looked at him and started feeling very light, like he was floating almost. Greg dragged Mycroft on top of him and started lazily snogging him. His mouth hung half open, it was as if the kisses were set in slow motion. Greg shifted under him.

Mycroft broke away to see Greg smiling up at him. “You’re gorgeous.” He said stroking the tip of Mycroft’s nose.

“I like your teeth.” Mycroft said in a voice that didn’t sound like his own. Greg chuckled under him. Mycroft closed his eyes and leaned down to press their lips together.

People started showing up and Mycroft didn’t care, he stayed in his own little world with Greg. He started picking up the pace. Greg shifted once more and started un-tucking the back of Mycroft’s shirt to run his hands up Mycroft’s bare back.

Greg’s touch was amazing. He felt Greg run his hands up the front of his shirt, right up his chest. Mycroft started keening.

He didn’t realize he was putting on a show until he saw the flashes of cameras. Greg pulled at Mycroft’s tie to bring him down closer.

“Don’t mind them, they’re just jealous.” He said with a smirk. Mycroft went back to kissing slowly. They kept at it until Mycroft’s lips were stinging and his jaw hurt. He lay his head down on Greg’s chest and entwined their fingers together as he drifted off.

He woke up on a different sofa, the room was pitch black. “Greg?” He whispered in the dark. There was a small groan from the other side of the room.

“Hold on.” He heard rustling and the sound of footfall. Greg flipped on the light to illuminate the disaster scene. Sally and the sixth former Anderson were asleep under a blanket on the floor, they both appeared very naked. Dimmock fell asleep with a bag of crisps cuddled in his arms. Greg had to shuffle through ankle deep rubbish to make a path to the stairs.

“What time is it?” Mycroft asked as he looked around for his backpack. He looked at his wristwatch. It was near midnight. “My mother is going to kill me!” He shouted and scrambled for the door.

“Wait.” Greg grabbed his forearm as he darted past. “Just stay, it’s late.” Mycroft wrenched his arm away. “There’s a party at mine, Saturday. You’ll be there, right?”

“I’ll consider it.” Mycroft said with an aggravated sigh. He felt like he was turning his back on his family and heading down a dangerous path with this boy. He didn’t want this. He looked at the sub-basement and cringed. This wasn’t who he was. Greg liked him though, or at least Mycroft thought he did. It wasn’t often that someone genuinely liked Mycroft.

The boys at Eton were amiable only because he held power at the school and had a wealthy family. His family was dissolving and their wealth was dwindling. He had nothing now.

“I need to go.” Mycroft said solemnly. Greg nodded and handed Mycroft his bag. Mycroft climbed the stairs with his head held in shame.

* * *

Mycroft felt terrible when he returned home and saw the state of the place. Sometimes Sherlock had the mentality of a child half his age and would destroy things for no reason. Mycroft looked at the dents in the wall and groaned. He saw Sherlock passed out on the sofa. He went to pick him up and it sounded like Velcro coming undone. Sherlock was sticky all over. Mycroft set him down and pulled off his blazer and set it off to the side.

He picked his brother up again and was thoroughly disgusted carrying him up the stairs. He started running the bath.

“You smell.” Sherlock groaned half asleep.

“Do I?” Mycroft asked worried. He placed Sherlock down on the bathmat.

“Like... burnt nuts and manure.”

“Shit.” Mycroft stripped his shirt off and started smelling it.

“John says you kiss boys.”

Mycroft looked at him in terror. “John Watson is a liar.” Mycroft submerged his shirt in the tub and started scrubbing it with bar soap. “Sherlock, what are you covered with?”

“Jam.”

“You couldn’t have eaten with a utensil like a normal human being?”

“I was hungry.” Sherlock moaned. Mycroft jolted when he heard a knock at the door.

“Boys.” He heard the airy sound of his mother’s voice emanate from behind the door.

“Just a moment.” Mycroft stripped Sherlock down quickly and threw him in the tub. Sherlock sat with a grumpy look on his face. Mycroft opened the door to see his mother wide awake.

“What are you two doing up?” She stepped in to check on Sherlock.

“Bath.” Mycroft said plainly.

“You’re not wearing a shirt.” She pointed out.

“It got wet.” He said with a diffident shrug.

“Well, keep it down, we have neighbours now.”

Mycroft gave her a grin. “Of course, mummy.”

Mycroft gently closed the door, pressed his back against it, and ran his hands through his hair. He let out a sigh of relief.

With Sherlock bathed and dressed for bed, Mycroft finally retreated up the stairs to his private suite. He fell face first on to the mattress and slept for all of ten minutes before his mother flipped on the lights and started folding laundry on his bed. She kept trying to hold a conversation with him about school. Mycroft drew a pillow over his head and tried to drown out the sound of his mother’s words.

He was an absolute zombie at school the next day. He didn’t see head or tail of Greg and he was secretly relieved. Sally extended an invitation to the beach and Mycroft not-so-regretfully declined. After fifth period he noticed he had a little shadow following him.

“John, I don’t need you to walk Sherlock home today.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” He said speeding up to walk beside Mycroft.

“You... really have nothing better to do than hang out with a seven year old?”

John shrugged. “Not really.”

Mycroft let out a sigh. “Go home, John.”

“But I wanna come over to play.”

“Sh, keep your voice down.” Mycroft pulled John aside by his elbow and looked directly into his eyes. “Boys your age don’t _play._ ”

“Well... can I come over still?” John asked sheepishly.

“Fine.” Mycroft said with a heavy sigh. He stood up straight and fixed his lapels. The moment they started walking Mycroft saw Greg bounding up to greet them.

“Hey, wait up!” He shouted. Mycroft started walking faster and John had to jog to keep up. Greg quickly caught up and grabbed Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft shook him off.

“Shouldn’t you be at the beach?” Mycroft asked gritting his teeth.

“Thought I’d hang with you two.”

“Wasn’t invited?” Mycroft asked looking him over. Greg put his hands in his pockets and stared at the pavement as they walked. “Your ex is going to be there and your supposed friends would rather be in her company than have yours.”

“I wasn’t invited neither.” John said with a grin. Greg scowled at him. “Mycroft was; Sally says he was.”

“She invited _you_?” Greg asked completely stunned. While they waited for the first bus Greg kept shifting uncomfortably.

“Does it really bother you that much that I was invited and you weren’t?”

“Yeah.” Greg said crossing his arms. “Ain’t fair, they don’t even know you.”

“And yet they prefer my company to yours, what does that tell you about your behaviour?”

“Jesus Christ, sound like me Gran.” Greg said rushing to get on the bus first. He strolled to the back and took a seat, kicking his legs up on to the seat in front of him.

“Perhaps you should cut out this bad-boy act and behave like a decent human being.” Mycroft said shoving Greg’s legs off the seat. John was practically skipping down the aisle to join them.

“Why’re you so happy?” Greg sneered at John. He threw a punch and John flinched. “Two for flinching.” He laughed, delivering two solid punches to John’s arm. John winced and rubbed his arm.

“Ow, what’s that for?” He grimaced in pain.

“Being such a twat.”

Mycroft shook his head and took his seat. John sat on the other side of Mycroft and stuck his tongue out. Greg leaned over to make a face. Mycroft threw his head back against the seat and groaned. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

The two boys bickered back and forth the whole ride. Greg threw John’s backpack down the aisle and John was yelled at by the driver when he went to go retrieve it. When the bus came to a stop Mycroft stormed off and tried to leave the two behind.

John and Greg raced to the next bus stop, leaving Mycroft in their dust. Greg kept threatening to shove John into traffic and Mycroft finally intervened. “Would you two behave like grown-ups! For two bloody seconds.”

“One.” Greg teased.

“Don’t.” Mycroft said through clenched teeth.

“Two!” Greg shouted. He started chasing John through traffic, dodging cars. Mycroft went into shock. Several cars had to swerve to avoid the two boys.

“Greg!” John shrieked. Greg carried John back upside down.

“How’s about we find a toilet, give em a proper swirly.” John struggled and squirmed. Greg pretended to drop him and Mycroft lunged forward to catch him.

“Stop!” He shouted.

“Fine.” Greg flipped John and unceremoniously dropped him on to the pavement. John winced and rubbed his lower back.

“Must you run amuck? Can’t you at least... walk amuck?” Mycroft snickered at his own joke. Greg smiled and held out a hand for John. John grabbed it and just as Greg started helping him up he shoved him back down. “All right, show’s over.” The bus arrived and they put on their halos so they wouldn’t be thrown out.

They arrived at St John’s late and saw Sherlock sitting on the black top with a little girl, playing jacks. The moment Sherlock saw Mycroft he burst into tears. Mycroft noticed the scrape on Sherlock’s chin.

“Oh save it for mummy.” Mycroft said helping Sherlock up.

“A girl pushed him down.” The little girl said collecting her jacks.

“She probably likes you.” Mycroft said with a shrug.

“That’s a sick way of showing it.” Sherlock said crossing his arms.

“Aw, did Sherly get beat up by a wittle girlie?” Greg said tousling Sherlock’s hair.

“Irene’s a year one, she beats all the boys. I’m Molly, I lost three teeth just this week.” She said baring her teeth to show she wasn’t lying.

“That’s lovely, dear. Come along Sherlock.” Mycroft grabbed Sherlock’s hand and Sherlock brushed him away. He walked beside John. They reached a crossing in the road and Sherlock held out his hand for John. John looked at his outreached palm and Greg started snickering.

“I might run off into traffic. I’ve done it ‘fore.” Sherlock said beckoning his palm. John sighed and held Sherlock’s hand to cross the street.

“I’m glad to see you’ve made a friend.” Mycroft said looking back at Sherlock.

“Molly isn’t my _friend._ She just won’t leave me alone.” Sherlock huffed.

“I know the feeling.” Mycroft said looking at Greg pointedly. Greg ignored him and grabbed a fallen branch and started running it along the bars of the fence.

“What’re we doing then?” Greg said swinging the branch around like a bat. “Dropping off the kiddies I hope.”

John shook off Sherlock’s hand and started rubbing his hands against his trouser legs to get the sweat off. “I’m no kid.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Sherlock said defensively. Greg merely laughed. “You smell.” Sherlock said wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Really, don’t think you’ve got a good whiff.” Greg went to put Sherlock in a headlock and Mycroft pulled him away.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Sherlock asked with an air of repulsion.

Both boys answered simultaneously “Yes” and “No”

“No?” Greg asked with a bit of hurt showing on his face.

“No.” Mycroft said plainly. “And I don’t appreciate you bullying my brother.”

“I wasn’t doing nothing.”

“Exactly.” Mycroft said scowling at him.

“Double negative. Means you were doing something.” Sherlock said spitting his tongue out. “Idiot.”

“Listen you-“ Mycroft gave Greg a warning look and Greg backed down. He decided to shove John off the kerb instead.

“Hey, why’s everyone having a go at me? I didn’t do anything.”  John poked at the bruise that was forming on his upper-arm.

“Oh! Kirkdale, I know what we can do down here. There’s an open drainage pipe down by-“

“No!” Mycroft shouted.

“Come on, it’s practically a landmark. Used to smoke there all the time.”

“Fine, you go have a smoke. Sherlock and I are going home.”

“What ‘bout me?” John asked.

“What about you?” Mycroft sneered.

“John’s coming to play.” Sherlock said glaring at Greg.

“Boys my age don’t play, Sherlock. We hang out.” John said trying to look cool.

“Can we play while we hang out?”

“Sherlock, don’t you listen?” Mycroft asked with a sigh. Mycroft noticed Greg was still trailing along behind them. “Lost?”

“Nah, thought I’d come to yours.”

“You’re not invited!” Sherlock shouted. They reached the house and Sherlock opened the gate just long enough to let John in. He shut it and stuck his tongue out at Greg. John and Sherlock ran inside giggling.

Mycroft went to open the gate and Greg held his hand still.

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked with sad eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Look, I don’t mind the abuse, but I’d like to know what I’ve done to earn it.”

Mycroft hung his head and stared at his hands. “Nothing.” He started nervously pecking at his fingers.

“You coming to mine on Saturday?” He placed a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “I’d really like to have you there.”

“Will Susie be there?”

“Yeah.” Mycroft looked up at him. “This time’s different though. I’m not using you no more.”

“Any more.” Mycroft said looking away. He opened the gate. “Well?”

“Well what?” Greg stood looking at the house.

“Are you coming?”

Greg smiled. “Really?” He stepped inside before Mycroft could change his mind. “Your mum won’t mind, will she?”

“She’s probably asleep.”

“It’s past four.” Greg said looking at his watch.

“I know.”

“Drunk?” Mycroft clenched his teeth at the remark. “Sorry, I’m real sorry, didn’t mean-“

“She’s just depressed.”

Greg bit his bottom lip in thought. “What for?”

“Shut up and go inside.” Mycroft said ushering him in.

* * *

Greg looked around Mycroft’s room with an unfamiliar gaze. At his former house, boys would look at his room picking it apart with their eyes; then they’d brag about what they had in their room. The boys were immensely jealous of his wealth and would do anything to bring him down a peg. Greg just seemed to be looking; taking the place in.

“It’s brilliant.” He said with a smile. “So you’ve got the top floor all to yourself?”

“You have that basement.”

“Isn’t heated.” He sat down on Mycroft’s bed. There was a loud knock at the door.

“What, Sherlock?”

“Father called!” He shouted under the door. Mycroft opened the door to see Sherlock laying on the floor trying to peak inside his room.

“When?” Mycroft went to rush down the stairs.

“I dunno, he left a message.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s coming by to drop off papers.” Sherlock chased him down the stairs.

“When?” 

“Friday.”

“What time?” Mycroft looked at the answering machine. “Sherlock! You deleted it?”

“I already listened to it.” He looked up at Mycroft innocently.

“What did he say, precisely?”

“I don’t remember.” Sherlock looked up at him sorrowfully but Mycroft knew he wasn’t feeling an ounce of remorse.

“Friday! What time Friday?”

“I dunno!” He shouted back. “I’m not your answering machine.” He huffed.

“Sherlock, how many times do I have to tell you, not to play with the machine?”

“I dunno, twenty-six?” He smiled as John started snickering.

“John, you were there, did he say what time?” Mycroft asked trying to keep his cool.

“I dunno.” John laughed. Both he and Sherlock thought it was a laugh seeing Mycroft’s face turn red with anger. Greg came rushing down the stairs.

“Fine, we have ways of making you talk.” Mycroft snapped his fingers and Greg went over to the boys.

“Which one?”

“John.” Mycroft smirked. Sherlock looked on in confusion. “Loo’s this way.” He strolled confidently up the stairs.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock shrieked as Greg picked John up. Greg carried him up the stairs as Mycroft held the door open for him. Sherlock kept screaming at him to stop. Greg held John upside-down over the toilet with his head just above the water.

“Now, talk!” Mycroft said flushing the toilet.

“John!” Sherlock screamed. Mycroft gave the signal to dunk. Greg obliged happily.

“I’m gonna tell!” Sherlock cried. Greg pulled John’s head out of the toilet and John gasped for air.

“I believe he’s ready for a second.” Mycroft said to Greg.

“No!” Sherlock started punching his brother in the thigh. Mycroft pressed his hand against Sherlock’s forehead and Sherlock kept swinging.

“This would all be over if you’d just give me a time.” Mycroft said with a sardonic tone.

“Five!” John shouted with his hands gripping the toilet’s seat.

“Very good.” Mycroft said with a wry smile. “Again.”

“Gladly.” Greg said dunking John’s head in once more. Mycroft flushed and looked at his brother.

“Next time, think twice before trying to pull one over on me.” Mycroft said as Greg was pulling John’s head out of the water once more.

“I’ll tell.” Sherlock said gritting his teeth. “I’ll tell father.”

“Would your dear John like a third?” John shook his head and Sherlock clenched his teeth together and looked at the floor in defeat. “Very well then, Greg release him.”

“I _hate_ you.” Sherlock said seething with rage.

“Can I at least have a towel?” John asked shivering.

“Um... no.” Greg said shoving them both out of the bathroom. He slammed the door in John’s face. “Kids.” He laughed, moping up the water with a towel. He listened in at the door. “They still there?”

“They’re going to tell my mother.” Mycroft said with a gasp.

“Well, John wanted a towel right?” Greg said bending over to pick up the wet towel. “I’ll give em one.” He started spinning the towel at its ends. He opened the door and started using the towel as a bull-whip to chase the children down the stairs.

“I’ve created a monster.” Mycroft said with a laugh.

* * *

On Friday Mycroft couldn’t get home soon enough. He debated hog-tying Sherlock to at least get some of the cleaning done. Sherlock kept undoing everything he picked up.

“He’ll be here any moment, Sherlock, please.” He begged. “Go wake up mummy.”

“I’ve tried.” Sherlock whined. He fell on to the sofa and curled up into a ball. “I’m bored, when’s he gonna be here?”

“Sherlock, go upstairs.” The bell rang and Sherlock sprang up to check out the window. Mycroft saw him dart up the stairs and that could only mean one thing. Mycroft opened the door slowly. He felt his chest tighten.

“He couldn’t make it, could he?” Mycroft said looking up to his elder brother.

“Something came up.” Sherrinford gave him a mock sympathetic look. “How is the little one?”

“Sherlock, he’s fine.” Mycroft said gripping the door-jam tightly.

“I can’t stay long. Is your mother home?”

“She’s... asleep.” Mycroft said scratching at his arm timidly.

“At this hour?” He laughed. “It’s near five.”

Mycroft felt his stomach churn and he shifted uncomfortably. “She’s only just lain down.”

Sherrinford looked away awkwardly. “Well I’m off, here, have my card.” He handed Mycroft his business card. “I’m in London now, perhaps you could come down for the weekend, see the office. I know the wife would be glad to have you over.”

“And Sherlock?” Mycroft asked in a voice just barely above a whisper.

Sherrinford pursed his lips. “Perhaps for Christmas.” Mycroft nodded. “If you need anything.” He pointed to the number on the card. Mycroft nodded once more. He handed him a folder and patted Mycroft on the shoulder. He left promptly and Mycroft shut the door gently.

He fought hard to keep from crying but his chest hurt. He struggled to breathe and slid down to the floor and burst into tears. He saw Sherlock looking from the top of the steps. Mycroft sucked back his tears and threw the folder across the room.

“Mycroft!” His mother shouted from the steps. The papers were strewn out all over the floor and he considered tearing them up.

“Just leave me alone!” He stood up, flung the door open, and started running. He let his anger consume him. He hated his family. Above all he hated his father.

He left them with nothing; the court had to order him to take care of his family. The only son he would talk to was his golden boy, Sherrinford. Mycroft hardly knew his brother, he was thirteen years his senior. The age difference between his parents was sickening. He’d only married his mother for looks and when those faded so did their marriage. His mother became too needy and his father became too greedy.

Sherrinford married for looks as well. He had a minor position in the government and had numerous suitors at his disposal. He chose the one with the biggest breasts.

Sherlock was an accident and he knew it. He played the part as well. His father pitied the boy but never wanted to spend time with him. He bought him gifts to bribe him. Mycroft hated the way Sherlock spoke so fondly of a man that didn’t want him in the first place.

Mycroft’s lungs began to sting and he started feeling a stitch in his side. He walked to the bus stop and caught his breath. He couldn’t see straight, let alone think straight. He arrived at Greg’s house and knocked on his front door.

An elderly man opened the door; he looked like he was in his eighties. Mycroft stepped back and checked the house number.

“Is... Gregory home?” He asked tentatively. The man looked at him blankly. An elderly woman, likely his wife, stepped up and started leading the man back to the sofa.

“Greg!” She bellowed. “Friend’s ‘ere.”

Greg thundered down the stairs and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Mycroft. “Mycroft” He said in horror. His eyes darted to his grandparents. Greg grabbed him by the arm and rushed him up the stairs. “What are you doing _here_?” He whispered. He looked over to a closed door and grimaced. “Come on.” He led Mycroft into his bedroom.

The room smelled like concentrated Greg and it looked like his entire wardrobe was lying on the floor. Greg locked the door and hooked the latch. “Look, don’t tell no-one I’m living with me Gran. The guys would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Grandmother, yes, that would make sense.” Mycroft laughed. “I knew something was amiss about the woman’s handwriting on your tag. Hm... carpal tunnel syndrome?”

Greg rubbed his forehead and walked over to take a seat on his bed. “Did ya just come over to make fun of me?”

Mycroft let out a sigh. “I ran away.”

“No.” Greg laughed. “You?” Mycroft nodded. “Why?”

“Family.”

“Can’t stand living in a gorgeous house with a mum and a little brother?” Greg asked stretching out to lean on to his hands.

“You couldn’t begin to comprehend-“

“Live with my grandparents-“

“Which you take advantage of and smoke in their basement. Oh, Gregory, you’re such a baddie.”

Greg frowned and sat up. “Wish I had a family like yours.”

“No, you don’t.” Mycroft said with a sigh. He sat next to Greg on the bed. Greg laid down and stared at the ceiling. He placed his hands behind his head and let out a slow breath.

“No such thing as normal nowadays.” He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and slid one out. “Dysfunctional’s the new norm.” He lit up the cigarette and offered one to Mycroft. Mycroft shook his head. “You staying?”

Mycroft shrugged. “Wouldn’t want the police to come looking for me.”

“Let em sweat.” Greg laughed. “Fuckers deserve it.”

“You don’t even know.” Mycroft laughed. “You hardly even know me.” Greg passed him his cigarette and Mycroft took in a long drag. “You’re just using me for nefarious purposes.” He crossed his legs and handed the cigarette back to Greg.

“What’s so wrong with that?” Greg shifted up on to his elbow. “I’m still here, ain’t I?” He started sucking down the cigarette. “Hold up. I’ve got somethin to show ya.” He snuffed the cigarette out on his side table and leaned over the bed, hanging upside-down off the side. Mycroft couldn’t help but check out his bum.

Greg pulled out a magazine and flung it at Mycroft. “Careful wiv it, gotta have it back by Tuesday.” Mycroft thumbed through the dirty magazine.

“It’s a bunch of girls.”

“Just Girls.” Greg opened flipped to a bookmarked page. “Look at the tits on this one.”

Mycroft looked. “Lovely.” He said lifting his eyebrows. Greg looked at his response to the pornography.

“Could you imagine, having at it? In a three-way with this one?”

“Three-way.” Mycroft said looking at the naked woman.

“You know?” Greg shifted up to his knees. “I’d be having at it on one end, nailing her, n’ you’d be on the other end getting the best head of your life. It’d be fucking hot.” Greg seemed to be caught up in the daydream. Mycroft looked away from the indecent photo.

Greg grabbed the magazine and flipped to another. “What bout this one?” Mycroft shook his head. “Picky, picky. All right.” He pulled open another page. Mycroft shook his head again. “There has to be at least one.”

“Greg.” What part of gay wasn’t he understanding?

“This one.” He pointed.

“Fine.” Mycroft said with a sigh. “She’s all right.”

“What do you like bout her?”

“Boobs.” Mycroft said with a disinterested wave of the hand.

“They’ve all got boobs.” Greg said defensively.

“So does your grandmother.”

“You’ve got a point.” Greg said looking over the photo. He started palming at his crotch. Mycroft couldn’t tear his eyes away. He gulped. “Hey!” Mycroft jolted at the sound of his voice. “I’ve got just the thing.” Mycroft watched as Greg hopped off the bed with a loud thud and started searching under his bed.

He threw a flesh toned rubber thing at Mycroft who flailed and dropped it. “What is that?” He asked disgusted.

“Pocket pussy. Place it between the mattress and box-spring, feels like the real thing.”

Mycroft cocked one brow. “And you’d know?”

“Everyone says it does.” Greg said sheepishly, climbing back on to the bed.

“Everyone?”

“Oh shut up.” He shoved Mycroft who started giggling.

“What, are we to have a mutual wank?”

“Look, ain’t gay.” Greg said grabbing the masturbation device. Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I like ya enough though.” He shrugged and started idly squeezing the toy. “Just don’t want it up my arse, you know?”

“Same goes for me.” Mycroft looked at Greg.

“Still fancy women.” Greg’s cheeks flushed red.

“Sure you do.” Mycroft leaned forward and brought their lips together. He dominated the kiss and Greg’s eyes fluttered closed. He kept it soft and tender, pulling away ever so slightly so Greg had to lean forward to meet his lips. He looked down and grinned at the response he was receiving. Greg noticed him looking and pushed him away.

“I was looking at her.” Greg said defensively.

“Your eyes were closed.” Mycroft laughed.

“I was _thinking_ bout her.”

“Fine, I’ll leave.” Mycroft turned and Greg grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him into a forceful snog. Mycroft straddled Greg’s hips with his arms and Greg started lying back; pulling him on top. Mycroft lowered himself until their groins touched; he jerked his hips back with uncertainty.

Greg broke this kiss and looked down between them. “S’weird.”

“What is?”

“”Nother bloke’s junk touching yours.” Mycroft blushed. “Kay, weird’s not the word... different?” Greg gave him a look of compassion. “I don’t mean it’s wrong.” Mycroft pulled away and sat up on his knees.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t.”

“Nah, its fine.” Greg shifted up on to his elbows.

Mycroft let out a sigh. “You’re more confused than I am.” He chuckled. “That’s some feat, I’ll let you know.”

Greg wiggled his toes. “I know, clipped em just yesterday.” He let out a short and mocking laugh.  

“Twat.” Mycroft said shoving him. Greg held his arms and pulled him over to straddle his abdomen. Mycroft took a seat on his abs and ran his hands down Greg’s chest. Greg hummed and closed his eyes.

“How are you so confused? Seem like the least confused person round here.” Greg asked with a long sigh.

Mycroft lifted up Greg’s shirt and started pulling it over his head. Greg lifted his arms and Mycroft finally got a good look at what lay underneath his clothes. He was incredibly fit, Mycroft suddenly felt self-conscious. His abs made a V that narrowed in toward his groin suggestively. He was deliciously tan and naturally so.

Mycroft’s skin tone suggested he didn’t get shagged. He didn’t get colour, he burned, and when he pealed, his skin was whiter than before. Worst of all he was ginger, really ginger, down under. What would a boy like Greg see in him?

Greg noticed the pause. “Problem?”

“You’re Mr Sex and I look like the mascot for _Mad_.”

Greg snorted and grabbed Mycroft’s ears. “What, you worry?”

Mycroft fought back a smile. “I do hate you, I really do.” He laughed. “Don’t your grandparents ever watch you?”

“Don’t climb stairs well.” He shrugged.

“I really need supervision.” Mycroft said leaning down to run his tongue up Greg’s sternum and straight on up his neck to his chin were he bit down with a low growl.

“Fuck.” Greg whimpered. Mycroft pulled away and looked down at him with a predatory gaze. “Least we don’t have to worry bout teenage pregnancy.” Mycroft snorted a laugh. Greg reached out and grabbed Mycroft’s flanks. “God, is like touching myself.”

“You should be used to it.” Mycroft bit his bottom lip.

“Wanker.” Greg laughed. He start un-tucking Mycroft’s shirt and Mycroft felt a rush of nerves. “Jesus, what d’you tuck it in your underwear?” Mycroft fought a smile and helped him start unbuttoning his shirt. Greg ran his thumb up Mycroft’s stomach line flattening out his trail of ginger hair leading up to his navel.

Mycroft started feeling a throbbing in his groin. The back of his mind knew he was doing something he shouldn’t be yet the stirring heat in his loins kept him going. Greg shifted and sat up with Mycroft on his lap. Mycroft felt his breath hitch. He could feel Greg through his trousers, jabbing him in the ass.

Greg placed his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders and pressed their lips together. Mycroft couldn’t concentrate on the snog with Greg’s member jutting up into his cleft. He started feeling faint. He held on to Greg’s shoulders for support. It felt like all the blood had left his head.

Greg pushed him over and Mycroft fell on to his back with a thud. Greg laughed and when Mycroft went to get up on his elbows he saw Greg looking between his legs.

“Who’s the queer now?”

“Never said I wasn’t.” Mycroft squeaked indignantly, drawing a pillow over his crotch to conceal his erection. Greg tore the pillow away.

“Was the matter? Do I make you mad with desire?” Greg said lifting his eyebrows. He cupped Mycroft’s balls in one hand and Mycroft let out a startled gasp. Greg let out a low pervy laugh. He took his hand away and looked Mycroft over. Greg pounced off the bed and made a loud thud. “Come on, I let you have first go.” He grabbed the false vagina, lifted the mattress and positioned it just right.

Mycroft crawled off the bed and looked at Greg nervously. Greg opened the magazine once more and placed it on the bed. “Just imagine it’s her.” He said pointing to a rather slutty looking woman that had her legs spread wide apart. Mycroft grimaced looking at the alien like thing between her legs.

Greg dove under the bed and dug around like a fox terrier. He kicked up all sorts of debris, causing Mycroft to doubt the cleanliness of the pussy in front of him. Greg shouted and hit his head on the bed pulling out. “Got it!” He said rubbing the back of his head. Mycroft looked at the bottle for a moment. “It’s lube, put it on your dick, you know, slick it up.”

Mycroft suddenly felt heated from embarrassment. “Why don’t you have the honours?” He said pushing the lubricant into Greg’s hands.

“You can start out soft.” He said looking down at Mycroft’s trousers. “It’s not _that_ realistic.” Mycroft looked away. “What’re you nervous for? Give ‘er one, Christ’s sake, she’s begging for it.” He said pointing the picture. “Fuck me Myc, fuck me.” He said in a high pitched falsetto. “All right.” Greg rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. “Stand back, show you how it’s done.”

A small shocked sound escaped Mycroft as Greg pulled down his zip and released his cock. He started slicking it up with lubricant and Mycroft’s mind went numb. He slid it into the pussy and groaned loudly. He snapped his hips and Mycroft stumbled on his knees. He held on to the bed for support. He watched with intent fascination at the boy’s erection sliding in and out of the masturbator.

Mycroft swallowed and noticed his throat had gone dry from having his jaw open. Greg had his eyes shut tight and was in his own world humping away at his mattress. Mycroft had never seen anything more erotic. Greg had his head tilted back, exposing his neck. Mycroft wanted to reach out and touch him but was frightened that he’d stop.

Greg started grunting and thrusting faster. By now Mycroft started seeing spots, he felt like his prick was going to tear through the fabric of his trousers in attempt to escape. Greg slammed into the mattress and held still. He had a shocked look on his face and the veins on his temporal lobe were sticking out clearly.

He pulled out and pulled Mycroft over. “Have a go.” He panted pulling down Mycroft’s zip. Mycroft turned toward the mattress, fished himself out discreetly, and slid in. He let out a small sigh. He felt his cock pulsating; the wetness enclosing gave him a tingling feeling all over. He remained seated for a while before slowly pulling out and pushing back in.

It was harder than it looked. He had to angle himself and spread his legs further to line up correctly.

Greg came up behind him and held his hips. He whispered into Mycroft’s ear, “Here, I’ll show ya.” Mycroft felt his thighs quiver. Greg started moving Mycroft’s hips for him. Mycroft bit his bottom lip and gave into the sensation. Greg pressed in closer and Mycroft was convinced he was going to die.

Greg grabbed the mattress with both hands and started guiding Mycroft’s hips with his own. “Greg” Mycroft moaned. He picked up the pace and Mycroft’s hip bones started bumping into the mattress. He furrowed his brows and felt a cold chill all over. His toes curled and he keened and moaned.

His release came in two spurts, his legs spasmed and he felt like the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He fell back into Greg’s arms. Greg held him close and kissed his temple.

“Good eh?”

Mycroft couldn’t even nod his head to acknowledge.

“Hungry? I’ll make you something.”

Mycroft lifted his hand and gripped Greg’s forearm. He silently begged Greg to stay. He held him a few moments longer while Mycroft caught his breath.

“You okay?” His grip tightened on Mycroft.

“Yes, fine. Perfectly fine.”

“Never done that with anyone ‘fore.” Greg said with a small sigh. “It’s different having someone watch, in’t?” Mycroft nodded. “You really wanna be for real... you know... like... boyfriends or summat?” Greg asked awkwardly.

“Do you?” Mycroft looked up into Greg’s eyes.

“Wouldn’t be askin’ if I didn’t.” He shrugged.

“I suppose.” Mycroft looked off into space.

“Prick’s hanging out.” Greg pointed out. Mycroft blushed and let go to put himself back in and pull up his zip. Mycroft sat up, turned, and pressed his back against the mattress. They sat facing one another but not meeting each other’s eyes. Every time one would look at the other they’d turn away as if they weren’t looking. “What’d you think of mine?” Greg asked shifting nervously.

“It’s nice.” Mycroft said turning bright red. He scratched at the hardwood floor with his thumb. “How about mine?” He felt a lump in his throat and a flutter in his stomach.

“Nice... real nice.” Greg nodded. He looked at Mycroft and Mycroft looked away. “Well, I’m gonna go get some-“

“Yeah, that would be good.” Mycroft interjected as Greg scrambled to his feet. Greg left in a hurry. Mycroft let out a heavy sigh and threw his head back against the mattress. His head lolled over to see the pocket pussy, his nose wrinkled in disgust wondering if the boy ever washed it. Going by the state of the room, probably not.

* * *

Greg returned up the stairs with a tray with two bowls of spaghetti. “What’d you do to my room?” Greg asked aghast.

“Cleaned.” Mycroft said wiping his hands.

“I have a rug?” Greg looked down at the royal blue throw-rug in confusion. He placed the tray down on the bed. “Where’s my clothes?”

“In the hamper... where clothes go.” Mycroft said sardonically.

“Smells in here.” Greg said sniffing the air.

“I aired it out a bit and lit a candle.”

Greg looked at the candle. “Sweet pea... is one of my gran’s...”

“It was in here.” Mycroft assured him. He started hanging up Greg’s blazer. Greg kept looking at the bare floor with a confused look on his face. “When’s the last time you dusted?”

Greg snorted. “What?”

“Do you bring girls into this room?”

“Sometimes.”

“And you wonder why Susan left you?” Mycroft scoffed.

“Oi, Susie’s a tart. I was just the flavour of the week.”

“And how many times has Phil been the flavour of the week?”

“Six.” Greg said shamefacedly.

“Precisely. Perhaps if you picked up after yourself and bathed once in a while-“

“Oi, I bathe.” Greg said with a scowl.

“Applying liberal amounts of cologne to one’s person does not constitute _bathing_.”

“What is it? Have a go at Greg day?”

“No, but if we are to be a serious couple I’d like you to be presentable.”

“You ashamed of me?”

“Ashamed, no, disgusted, quite possibly.”

“You fink I’m disgusting?” Greg said giving him his own look of disgust.

“Half the school ‘finks’ it.”

“Nobody’s said nothing ‘fore!” Greg shouted. “And what’re you doing talking to half the school bout me?”

“Digging up information about my potential boyfriend.” Mycroft said folding his trousers and placing them on his top shelf. He took a seat on Greg’s bed.

“I should kick you out.”

“You won’t though.” Mycroft said taking up his fork.

“Nah, cos I’m not the arse you think I am.”

“I don’t think you’re an ass. A pig, maybe.”

“Oi, I’ll show you pig.” He grabbed a handful of spaghetti and smeared it across Mycroft’s face.

“Thank you, Gregory, for proving my point.” Mycroft said shaking his hand to dislodge the spaghetti stuck to his wrist.

“Ha, who’s the pig now?” Greg said with a mocking snort. Mycroft stood up to brush off his front.

“Now, where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall, hang a left.” Greg said with a sigh. “You’re no fun.” Mycroft shook his head and left to wash up. He glanced downstairs to see the grandparents sitting on the sofa together, watching telly, eating their spaghetti. He felt a pang of guilt for what he’d done to their grandson while they were right down the stairs.

Mycroft started feeling waves of guilt crashing against him, sweeping him away into a sea of remorse. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and was disgusted by what he saw. He held on to the sides of the sink and let out a slow and controlled breath. He rinsed his face and patted it dry with a towel.

He strode back into Greg’s room and announced, “I must be going, my mother has suffered long enough.”

“You’re coming tomorrow though, right?”

Mycroft took a seat on his bedside. “Why are you so worried I won’t show up?”

“I just want you to come, all right?” There was a great deal of pain behind Greg’s eyes that Mycroft didn’t understand.

“I’m not a trophy for you to show off.” Mycroft said clutching Greg’s hand.

“Please. Just come tomorrow. It’ll be a blast, I promise.”

Mycroft let out a sigh. “I’ll try my best.”

“You won’t get grounded for running away, will you?”

“My mother will be far too busy sleeping to notice me slipping out.” Mycroft said picking at a loose thread on his trousers. Greg looked at him with an overwhelming amount of empathy.

“She’s not on drugs is she?” He squeezed Mycroft’s hand. “Look, m’not saying it to be mean. I know...” He swallowed hard and Mycroft looked at him.

“She’s just depressed.”

“She needs help.”

“I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

 “Some party.” Sally said sinking further into the sofa and curling up against Anderson who looked bored to tears.

“He’ll be here, don’t worry.” Greg said putting an arm around Mycroft. Dimmock sat on the third couch looking rather lonely.

“You’re daft Greg.” Sally said with a laugh. Mycroft busied himself with biting his lower lip. He feared the worst. John had been hit by a truck, was dead in a ditch, or was caught by the police, or some combination of the three. There was a rap at the door and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Finally!” Greg shouted. He went to open the doors and groaned. “Great, it’s you.”

“Some welcome.” Susie said pulling Phil down the stairs.

Greg went to close the doors when he heard John’s little voice shouting, “Wait!” John near tripped down the stairs and Greg caught him by the rucksack. “Phew, thanks.”

“Was saving the liquor.” Greg said pulling the bag off John’s back. The bag clinked and bottles were visible sticking out every which way, it was a wonder John wasn’t caught riding his bike with a backpack full of hard liquor. Greg started pulling out the bottles and lining them up. “They’re almost all half gone!”

“I grabbed what I could.” John said helping Greg remove the bottles.

“You in for shots, Johnny boy?”

“Greg.” Mycroft said standing up. “The boy isn’t even a hundred pounds.”

“You’re right, won’t take as much to get him sloshed.”

“He’s just a boy.” Mycroft said looking at him.

“He brought the alcohol, if he wants to drink it, let em.”

Mycroft felt sick to his stomach as John looked up at him. He was so small and when Mycroft looked at him all he could see was Sherlock. John nodded and grabbed the bottle with the least amount. Greg grabbed a large bottle of coke. “Chaser.” He said handing it to Mycroft.

“Any cups?” Sally asked as she was handed a bottle of cheap vodka.

“Nope. Anyone wiv herpes, there’s the door.” Greg pointed. He twisted open his bottle of whiskey and started chugging. The party looked up at him in shock. “Johnny, music, The Doors if you would.” Greg plopped down on the floor. “Spin the bottle, come on you lot.”

Anderson gave him a rat-faced look. “It’s disproportionately male.”

“Problem?” Greg said capping the bottle and giving it a spin. The couples started shuffling around for better coverage. Mycroft sat across from Greg waiting nervously. The others started drinking and grimacing, they rid the taste with mouthfuls of soda. John held his nose and took a swig of his drink.

“Where did you get all of this?” Mycroft asked him.

“Sister.” John made a face and smacked his lips together. “Tastes terrible.”

“Puts hairs on your chest, Johnny boy.” Greg said giving John’s back a rough smack. Mycroft sighed and took a small sip of his. He was surprised at how good it tasted. He looked at the label. It was a pre-mixed drink. Pina colada. It was easy to suck it down straight from the bottle.

Greg took first spin and Mycroft watched with anticipation. The bottle came to a slow stop and pointed directly at Phil. Greg smirked. “Pucker up, buttercup.” Greg crawled forward and planted a kiss on Phil’s lips much to Susie’s despise. Mycroft started laughing.

John was beginning to look rather lopsided. Mycroft kept drinking eagerly and watched the odd pairings with delight. Boys kissing boys, it was hilarious.

It was John’s turn to spin and he looked well impaired. He gave the bottle a spin and it landed on Sally. John sat still with his lips puckered, waiting for a kiss. Sally rolled her eyes and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Aw come on Sally, give em a real one.” Greg whined.

“Fine!” Sally said with an annoyed sigh. She grabbed John by both sides of the face and gave him such a kiss that John’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Oi!” She smacked John’s hands off her chest. “He’s copping a feel.”

“Atta boy, Johnny.” Greg said smacking his back. John smiled drunkenly. “Ponce.”

As the game went on and the others became more inebriated the kissing became more heated. Mycroft got the tongue from Susie and was really taken aback. John seemed to get the girls every time and Anderson kept cursing under his breath every time he landed on Greg and Phil. Dimmock landed on Mycroft, Greg, Phil, and Anderson before landing on John, at which point he quit and returned to the sofa to pout.

Mycroft took the bottle away from John before he forgot and handed it off to Greg to finish off. Soon the bottles were dry and Mycroft couldn’t see straight. He tried standing and ended up falling into Dimmock’s lap.

He noticed Greg intently watching the two couples on the floor switching partners. He pulled Greg on to the sofa and started talking to him while still seated on Dimmock’s lap. “What are we gonna do bout John?” Mycroft asked with a hiccup.

“Oh he’s fine.” Greg said looking over to John who was looking a little out of it watching the scene before him.

“What if they start, you know? Shagging.” Mycroft said looking down at the drunken mess on the floor.

“We’ll start charging for the peep show.”

“D’you mind?” Dimmock asked Mycroft.

“Not at all.” Greg said crawling over to share Dimmock’s lap. Greg ripped off his shirt and placed it on Dimmock’s head.

“Greg, don’t.” Dimmock said pushing him away. Greg lunged forward and smashed his lips together with Mycroft’s. They started sloppily kissing each other over Dimmock. “John!” Dimmock shouted. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

“Don’t feel good.” John said clutching his stomach. Dimmock grabbed John’s hand and helped him up the stairs. Mycroft heard John retching outside. The storm doors slammed closed and Mycroft felt a terrible guilt consume him. He looked into Greg’s eyes and forgot all about his worries.

Greg started desperately ripping at Mycroft’s clothes. Mycroft looked over to the four-way and grimaced. Greg grabbed Mycroft’s chin gently and redirected his attention to him. He kissed him softly and started wiggling his hips. He placed his hands on Mycroft’s hips and brought their bodies in close. Mycroft let out a gasp and Greg latched on to his neck.

He sucked hard and kept canting his hips into Mycroft’s. Mycroft felt like he was falling backwards. He put an uneasy hand on the back of the sofa. Greg pressed on his chest and Mycroft laid back and let Greg attack him.

He kept rubbing their groins together, providing beautiful friction. Mycroft started unbuttoning his trousers and pulled the zip down. He did the same to Greg’s and started sliding his jeans down. Greg held his hand, leaned in close, and whispered, “I wanna suck it.”

It took Mycroft a moment to remember what ‘it’ was. Greg went straight down to his pants and started mouthing at his bulge. Mycroft ran his fingers through Greg’s hair. He felt shock waves of pain and pleasure course through him.

Greg started pulling down his underwear’s elastic band down. Mycroft started giggling. “No.” He pushed Greg’s face away. “They’re watching.”

“No they’re not.” Greg said closing his eyes. He breathed hot moist air through Mycroft’s pants. Mycroft looked over to see Susie staring. Mycroft looked at her pointedly and pulled down his pants. Greg eagerly grabbed his prick and slobbered on it drunkenly.

Mycroft threw his head back and put on a show. Greg’s sloppy blow job was enough to make him shiver. Greg kept pulling his mouth off to adorn Mycroft’s penis with kisses. He was worshipping Mycroft’s prick and murmuring sweet little nothings to it. He stroked it softly before putting back in his mouth.

Mycroft donned a smug grin knowing Susie was watching, perhaps was even turned on by it. Greg was making wet slurping noises and humming with pleasure. Mycroft felt his hips start to levitate on their own; he started thrusting upwards. Greg gagged and pulled back. He started stroking Mycroft hard.

Mycroft came without warning; the orgasm was delayed and fell short of expectations. He pulled Greg up to wrap his arms around him and kiss him warmly. He wanted to do it again and again. He looked over to see if Susie was still watching; only to see her and Anderson at it. Mycroft jaw dropped. He blinked to see if he was seeing clearly.

She had her legs wrapped around Anderson’s torso and was keening loudly. Anderson thrust into her with reckless abandon. Mycroft looked to see if Greg was watching and saw he’d fallen fast asleep and was snoring on top of him. Mycroft kept watching in shock. Anderson’s grunts were primal and animalistic. He pulled out and Mycroft saw he wasn’t wearing protection.

Greg shifted to snuggle against Mycroft closer. Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg tighter to shield him from the horrid scene before him. Mycroft closed his eyes and willed it all away.

* * *

Mycroft woke up with the worst head-ache; it took a moment for him to register his surroundings. He couldn’t remember how he got home which scared him to no ends. What was even more frightening was he was in Sherlock’s room.

Mycroft’s stomach lurched and he made a mad dash for the bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet before he started spewing chunks. His head stung ferociously and his stomach just would not quit. He kept heaving even when there was nothing left but stomach acid.

He reached up and flushed the toilet, grabbed some toilet tissue to blow his nose, and started cleaning up the seat. Mycroft stood and composed himself. His headache had lifted slightly.

He stripped, placed his clothes in the overflowing hamper, turned on the shower, and stepped in. He stood for a while, letting the steam envelope him. The heat began to clear his racing mind. He’d had way too much to drink last night, wanting to forget, he succeeded in blacking out.

How did he make it home? Why was he in Sherlock’s bed? Where was Sherlock?

Mycroft suddenly remembered John. His stomach turned sour once more. He couldn’t keep living like this. There was far too much stress keeping friends like these. He started scrubbing his body with a loofah until his skin was red and raw. He wanted to purge himself of all his impurities.

He was thoroughly sickened with himself. He had one of those ‘I’m-never-drinking-again’ hang-overs. He turned off the tap and felt a rush of cold air hit him.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock said stepping into the bathroom.

“I’m naked.” Mycroft said pulling back the shower curtain half-way. “What?”

“Are you sick?” Sherlock was wringing his hands nervously, sentiment wasn’t his forte.

“Yes, why?”

“I needed you to do the shopping.”

Mycroft closed his eyes and tried to keep calm. “When did you last eat?”

“Friday.” Sherlock said looking up at Mycroft with doe-eyes. Mycroft slammed the curtain closed.

“Sherlock.” He groaned. “You’re big enough to feed yourself!” He felt like throwing miscellaneous hair-care products at his brother. “I mean, you can’t even use the microwave, it’s pathetic! Pass me a towel.” Mycroft stuck his hand out and Sherlock put a hand towel in his brother’s outreached palm. “Ha, ha.” Mycroft grabbed the towel and started drying his face. “A full-size towel.” Sherlock launched a towel over the curtain rod and it landed in the moist tub. “Jesus Christ, Sherlock!” Mycroft wrapped the damp towel around his lower half.

“Shouldn’t use the lord’s name in vain, you’re going to hell.”

“If I’m going, I’m taking you down with me.” Mycroft said, whipping the shower curtain open. “Besides, I’ve already sold my soul to the devil.”

“Mycroft... gingers don’t have souls.”

“Sh.” Mycroft said clamping a hand over his brother’s mouth. “Don’t let him know that.” He looked at the floor and Sherlock looked as well. “If I renege on my promise he’ll have the blood of my youngest brother.”

“But I need my blood.” Sherlock said with a squeak.

“Not where you’re going. He’ll grind your bones to make his bread.”

“What... like a giant?”

“Worse, he’ll make you grind your own bones to make his bread. The sound itself is enough to drive the most stone-wall men to madness. Nails on a chalk-board is music compared to the sound of bones grinding against stone, being turned to dust.”

“Yeah right, what about when I grind up my arms? How am I gonna do that?” Sherlock crossed his arms and gave his brother a look. “I’d only be able to get up to my torso before my organs started spilling out.”

“And that isn’t horrific enough?” Sherlock shook his head. “We should go see a slasher film.”

“What’s that?” Sherlock asked excited.

“It’s where the killer hacks his victims to pieces and there’s blood, guts, and gore, all over the screen.” Sherlock donned the most malicious grin. “You won’t be able to sleep for weeks.”

“Please! Please take me!” Sherlock bounced up and down.

“Can’t...” Mycroft. “Have to be fifteen. Plus, all the really good ones are eighteen and I don’t even think they’d let _me_ in with a grown-up.”

“What makes em so much better?”

“Gore. Just everywhere. Buckets of it, slathered, oh it’s sickening.” He made a paintbrush motion. “All over the place.”

“Oh please, oh please. I’ll never ask for anything ever again, please.” Sherlock got on to his knees and started begging.

“No.” Mycroft said plainly, leaving the bathroom.

“I’ll tell mummy.” Sherlock threatened.

Mycroft looked down at him. “Tell her what? That I won’t take you to see a slasher film?”

“That you came home drunk last night.”

Mycroft let out a controlled breath. “Fine.” He said pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll call Greg, sneaking into the cinema seems like it would be up his alley.”

“Why do you even play with him-“

“Hang out, Sherlock, hang out. Playing with him makes it sound like-“ He looked down at Sherlock. “Never you mind. _Hang out_ is the proper term.”

* * *

Mycroft’s head was still ringing when he met up with Greg and Sally. He was about to ask where Anderson was when he remembered him shagging Greg’s ex. He had a feeling Sally was tagging along to forget about him.

“We’re seriously bringing _him_ in?” Sally said pointing to Sherlock who was holding Mycroft’s hand.

“Might as well traumatize em young.” Greg said with a shrug.

“Is that your motto now?” Sally sneered.

“Is John coming?” Sherlock asked looking up at Mycroft with his innocent eyes that he swore he only used to send him on a guilt trip.

The three teenagers said, “Church.” In unison. Sherlock nodded and Greg led them around the back.

“This friend of yours...” Mycroft asked tentatively.

“S’fine, works ‘ere. Lets us in all the time.” Greg said pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one up to Mycroft who looked down at Sherlock.

“No, thanks.”

“What’re we seeing?” Sherlock asked shifting uncomfortably.

“Nightmare on Elm Street. You’ll love it.” Greg smirked. “What’re you doing?” Sherlock started crossing his legs and shifting from foot to foot.

“I told you to go before we left.” Mycroft whined.

“Didn’t have to go then.” Sherlock winced in pain.

“We can’t take em in, they’ll see us.” Greg looked around.

“I’ve gotta go.” Sherlock whined.

“Oh my God.” Sally laughed and rolled her eyes. “Who brought him?” She looked pointedly at Mycroft.

“Come on, there’s some bins round the corner.” Greg said grabbing Sherlock’s hand.

“I can’t pee there! Someone’ll see.”

Mycroft followed closely and they both turned their backs and shuffled close together to allow Sherlock some privacy. “You done yet?” Greg asked looking toward the sky.

“Can’t go.” Sherlock said biting his bottom lip.

“Now’s not the time to be pee shy.”

“Guys!” Sally shouted. The back door was being held open.

“Sherlock, hurry!” Mycroft shouted.

“Come on, kid!”

Sherlock started sniffling.

“Christ Sherlock, piss!”

Greg started laughing his head off. “Could you imagine, cops finding us, yelling at a crying toddler wiv his pants down?”

“Stop it, that’s not even remotely funny.”

Sherlock started giggling though he didn’t understand the joke. Mycroft heard the trickling sound of piss hitting pavement. Sherlock let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Hurry Sherlock, he can’t hold the door forever.”

Sherlock pulled up his zip and started fumbling with the button. Mycroft rolled his eyes and kneeled to help him. Greg started snorting holding back his laughter. Mycroft punched him smartly in the thigh and Greg burst out into laughter.

“Come on.” Mycroft grabbed Sherlock’s hand and they all rushed to the door where Greg’s friend was waiting.

“Wait, how old is he?” The boy asked aghast.

“Eleven.” Mycroft said pulling Sherlock through the door. They walked down the dark narrow hallway and entered the theatre. They sat front row centre next to Sally. The theatre was packed with kids that looked far too young to be seeing a film rated 18. “Are you certain we’re in the right theatre?” Mycroft asked looking around.

“Sit down.” Greg said pulling on his arm. Sherlock donned the brightest grin that didn’t fade for the duration of the film. He kept shifting to the front of his seat and looking on with excitement as the teenagers were brutally murdered. He laughed like a maniac when Johnny Depp was sucked into the bed and a geyser of blood came gushing out. Sally had a look of pure disgust on her face, Mycroft was well traumatised, and Greg spent the rest of the film mourning the loss. Mycroft was shaking and he felt sick to his stomach after the film let out. He walked down the alley in shock, holding Greg’s hand. Sherlock skipped merrily and spoke adamantly about the film.

“Did you see the part where-“

“Yes, for the millionth time, we were there.” Sally said with a sigh. She had her arms crossed around her abdomen and looked very uneasy.

“They had to kill off Glen, didn’t they?” Greg said kicking at the gravel on the pavement. “I mean honest.”

“What, d’you fancy em?” Sally asked with a mocking laugh.

“I thought he looked like you, Greg.” Mycroft said with a slight blush.

“Yeah? You think?” Greg smiled brightly. He started walking with a cocky gait.

“Who’s going to explain to Sherlock what those two teens were doing in bed together?” Sally asked turning around.

“Oh, he isn’t bothered. He’s chuffed to bits, look at him.” Greg said pointing to the frolicking boy.

“Freak.” Sally said with a cough.

“Who’s up for lunch, my treat?” Greg said, changing the subject.

Sally fell back to speak with Greg and Mycroft. “D’you hear bout John, he’s in hospital.” Mycroft felt his heart drop into his stomach and prayed Sherlock didn’t overhear.

“No, what happened?” Greg asked with genuine concern. Mycroft clutched on to his hand.

“Sister brought him in. Scare tactic.”

Greg let out a heavy sigh. “Activated charcoal?” He rolled his eyes. “Whatev, I’d drink the stuff for breakfast.”

“Good for her.” Mycroft piped up. “He can’t be... _drinking._ ” Mycroft whispered. “Not at his age.”

“What difference does it make?” Sally shrugged. “We aren’t much older.”

“Yes but physiologically speaking-“

“Whoa, big words, hold up.” Greg let go of Mycroft’s hand and slung his arm around his shoulder. “Look, Johnny’s a big boy-“

“No he isn’t, he’s scarcely taller than Sherlock.”

Sherlock head turned at the mention of his name. “Are you talking about John?” He looked concerned.

“No, it’s none of your business.”

“If it’s about John it is.” He said glaring up at Mycroft.

“His sister made him drink charcoal.” Greg said giving Mycroft’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Ew.” Sherlock made a face. “Why’d she do that?”

“Cos she’s a bitch.”

“Greg.” Mycroft jabbed him in the ribs. “Can we please not discuss this?”

“He ain’t invited any more, just so’s you know.” Sally said looking at Greg.

“Good.” Mycroft said with a heavy sigh. “He’s far too young to be exposed to...” Mycroft’s mind flashed with images of last night’s orgy. He kept thinking back to Susie being ploughed into the cement by Anderson. “You know, this is what happens without adult supervision.” Mycroft said shrugging off Greg’s arm.

“I know, isn’t it great?” Greg laughed. “We could do _anything._ Anything at all... well within legal limits.”

“That’s just it. We haven’t been operating within legal limits.”

“Listen to Jiminy Cricket over ‘ere.” Sally laughed.

“Lighten up, have some fun.” Greg said giving Mycroft a gentle shove. “If you keep letting that voice of reason nag you, you’ll never enjoy yourself.”

“That voice of reason keeps me alive.” Mycroft huffed.

“What’s the point of being alive if you’re not living your life? You’re just some _product_ of society then.”

“Deep, Greg, deep.” Sally snorted.

“There has to be balance.” Mycroft said with a sigh. “Limitations, order-“

“Only thing I ever learned from physics is the universe is going to chaos, might as well join it.” Greg laughed. “You put all your energy into setting things straight and they just go affray. Go with the flow.”

“I should just give up?” Mycroft said pursing his lips. “That’s what you’re suggesting.”

“You can grow up later, enjoy the now.”

Mycroft let out a sigh. “When I’m fully grown and I’m holding my position in the British government, I will own you. I will _own_ you, Gregory. You won’t be able to walk two steps without operating within _my_ boundaries. You’ll have a poster over your bed reminding you Big Brother is watching _you._ ”

“What, watching me wank?” Greg laughed. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Greg gave him a suggestive smirk.

“Bloody perverts.” Sally said speeding up ahead.

* * *

At the chip shop Sherlock started tearing into his food like an emaciated beast. Greg started drowning everything in malt vinegar. Mycroft picked at his food slowly. He looked at Sally who didn’t seem to be fairing well.

He felt an overwhelming amount of empathy for her which he couldn’t quite understand, she had been nothing but rude to him. Perhaps that was just her way of communicating with people. Sherlock stopped attacking his food and looked up.

“You’re sad.” Sherlock said looking into her eyes. He rarely made eye contact with strangers it was strange to see him interacting like a normal human being.

“I’m not.” Sally said rolling a chip between her finger tips.

“Yes you are.” Sherlock said returning his attention to his food.

“Is it ‘bout Anderson?” Greg asked stealing a handful of chips from her basket.

“Look, Greg would you just butt out?”

“Oi, I was just askin’.”

“Sod off, Greg. Seriously.” Sally stood abruptly and threw the chair back. She stormed out of the establishment causing everyone’s heads to turn her direction. Mycroft stood, picked up the chair, and scooted it in.

“What’s her problem?” Greg looked to Mycroft who was blushing.

“She’s just upset, Greg, let’s leave it at that.” Mycroft took a seat in Sally’s chair.

“Something happen last night?” He looked at Mycroft confused.

“She’s just upset, Greg.” Mycroft said through clenched teeth. He looked toward Sherlock but Greg wasn’t taking a hint.

“Hey, I’d like to know, it’s my house.”

“No you don’t.” Mycroft moaned. He leaned back and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands trying to erase the imagery from his mind.

“You coming to mine later?”

Mycroft leaned forward and opened his eyes. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Do we have to spend every waking moment together?” Mycroft sneered.

“You’re so bipolar.” Greg said with an awkward laugh. “I mean seriously... is he always like this?” Greg looked toward Sherlock who started nodding. “I mean it’s like petting a feral cat. One second you’re purring the next you’re latched on to my face trying rip my flesh off.”

“Like in the film when-“

“Sherlock.” Mycroft stopped him. “We were there.” He reminded him.

“I wanna see it again.”

“No.” Mycroft took a bite into his fish.

“What, was wittle Mycwoft afwaid?” Greg mocked. Sherlock had a good laugh at the expense of his brother.

“I most certainly wasn’t.”

* * *

Mycroft spent the night with the lights on; he kept breaking into cold sweats. As the night wore on he became more paranoid and delirious. He near had a heart-attack when his mother awoke from her slumber and started running the shower.

He startled awake at one point of time. His mother came into his room with a basket of laundry and started folding.

“Mycroft, what are you doing up?” She looked over him. “You look pale.” She felt his forehead. “Do you need to take a day off tomorrow?” Mycroft nodded and brought his sheets up to his chin. He looked at the ceiling with worry and tensed remembering Johnny Depp being sucked into his mattress. He started to panic when his mother left the room and turned out the lights.

Mycroft woke up on the floor and heard a pounding on his door.

“Mycroft! I’m late!” Sherlock whined.

“Go back to bed.” Mycroft grabbed a pillow off his bed and pulled it over his head. The phone started ringing and Mycroft groaned. He walked down the stairs in a daze. “What?” He snapped.

_“Mycroft, what are you doing home?”_

“Father.” Mycroft gasped. “I... I’m sorry.”

“Is that father? Let me speak! Let me speak!” Sherlock jumped for the phone.

_“Is that Sherlock? Mycroft what’s going on? Why aren’t you in school? Where’s your mother?”_

“I uh...” Mycroft stammered. His father started shouting on the other end of the line and Mycroft held the phone away from his ear and cringed.

_“Get your mother on the line.”_ His father sounded really angry. Mycroft handed the phone over to Sherlock who started talking away a mile a minute. The boy was clever enough to know he might not have a chance to speak with his father until Christmas and he had an enormous wish-list.

Mycroft walked up the stairs and started knocking on his mother’s door. He walked inside and found her out like a light. He walked over to her bedside and cocked his head to one side. He looked at her night table and reached for the pill bottle.

Mycroft let out a girlish scream when his mother caught him by the wrist.

“Father is on the phone.” He said through sharp breaths. His mother sat up straight in bed.

“Where is Sherlock?” She asked through half-lidded eyes.

“Speaking with father.”

“Shit.” She spat. She stood up and stumbled forward. “Sherlock! Sweetheart, hand the phone to mummy.” She sounded like thunder coming down the stairs to retrieve the phone. At this point Mycroft could hear screaming from the other end of the line. His mother made a face and held the phone far from her head. Sherlock kept jumping up and down trying to grab the phone.

“I wasn’t done.” He whined.

“Sherlock, go to your room.” She shooed him away and Sherlock started pouting. He walked over to Mycroft, sat on the stairs, and sulked. He sucked in a deep breath and Mycroft rolled his eyes. Sherlock start hyper ventilating, forcing himself into tears. His mother placed the phone on her shoulder and looked at Sherlock with pity. “Oh, please don’t, Sherlock. You’ll make mummy sad.”

Sherlock’s alligator tears rolled down his cheeks slowly and he quivered his bottom lip. He looked at his mother through his damp eyelashes and started sniffling. “Come here.” She beckoned. Sherlock ran over to hug her knees. “Here, talk with daddy.”

Mycroft let out a heavy sigh and retreated up the stairs. He threw himself angrily on to his bed and started reading. He fell asleep with the _Crime and Punishment_ pressed against his face. He gave a small snort and startled awake. Sherlock was staring at him.

“Unh.” He groaned. “Out.” He pointed to the door. “You’re not allowed in here.”

“Your door wasn’t locked.”

“Does it have to be?” Mycroft rolled over and started to drift off once more. Sherlock crawled on to his bed and started nudging his shoulder. “What?” Mycroft snapped.

“Why do you kiss boys?” Sherlock sat with his legs crossed; he looked at Mycroft with a grave look.

“You didn’t tell father, did you?” Mycroft shifted up on to his elbows. Sherlock shook his head. “Good.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Just why.” Sherlock groaned and threw his head against the pillow. “It’s gross.”

“It isn’t gross, Sherlock.” He looked over at his brother. “Okay, it’s gross.” He laughed. “But no more gross than boys kissing girls or girls kissing girls. Sherlock... you have to understand that.”

“Does that mean you’re a homosexsicle?”

Mycroft closed his eyes and snorted a laugh. “Who told you that?”

They both said, “John.” In unison.

“John is such a prat. Don’t listen to him.”

“He’d never, never lie to me. He said so himself.”

“Yes well half of what he says isn’t for young ears to hear.” Mycroft laughed. “Homosexsicle. Sounds like a frozen dessert.” He took a deep breath. “Don’t you dare tell mummy, or anyone else for that matter.”

“Why not?”

“You have no idea what the repercussions would be if anyone found out.” Mycroft thought carefully. “Do you remember how I told you about people hating other people based solely on the colour of their skin? That they’d sold them into slavery, beat them savagely, and killed them for no reason?” Sherlock sat up and looked down at his brother.

“They wouldn’t do that to you, would they?” He asked with a gulp.

“They used to send people like me to prison. Sentenced them to death even.”

“That’s stupid, no they didn’t.”

“Sherlock, I’m not making this up.” He looked at his brother seriously. “There is still a deep rooted hate for... Oscar Wilde types.”

“Why don’t you kiss girls then?” Sherlock said as if it was oh-so obvious.

“It’s... complicated.”

“Unh.” Sherlock groaned and threw his forehead against the bed. “Why do grown-ups always say that?” Mycroft chuckled.

“Because it is!” He patted Sherlock’s back.

“If you get killed, can I have your room?”

“No.” Mycroft said shoving his brother off the bed. “Now get out. I’m reflecting on my life choices.”

“Great, I’ll see you next Christmas.”

“If you’re lucky.” Mycroft laughed and lay back down to rest.

* * *

“Where were you yesterday?” Greg caught a hold of Mycroft first thing and brought him to the side of the building near the bins.

“Come on, we’ll be late for assembly.”

“You’re not still mad at me, are ya?” Greg looked at Mycroft with doleful eyes.

“Should I be?”

“Look, I heard bout Susie and Anderson.”

“Oh God.” Mycroft groaned and turned to leave.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He held Mycroft firmly by the wrist.

“I thought it would upset you.”

“You also didn’t say _we_ had sex.”

“What?” Mycroft’s face dropped. “We... we didn’t.”

“I had a feeling.” Greg said looking at the ground. “Sally says that Phil saw us. Says he’s gonna tell the whole school.”

“Unless?”

“Unless what...”

“You said he _is going to_ tell the school; that means he hasn’t _yet_.”

“So...” Greg obviously wasn’t following.

“He’s open for negotiations.” Mycroft said with a huff.

“It’s not like the whole school doesn’t know we’re like a couple or summat.” Greg said awkwardly.

“No... but we should at least discuss the matter with Phil and see what we can do to shut him up.”

“What’s it matter?” Greg asked with a shrug.

“He could have in his possession something more than anecdotal evidence.”

Greg motioned a hand over his head. “I’m so not following.”

Mycroft clutched Greg by both arms. “Think you idiot. While we were smoking this last Tuesday, do you remember flashing? Flashing _cameras_?”

“Yeah but we weren’t shagging.”

“Circumstantial evidence. He we are, scene one, stoned out of our minds snogging, scene two is inferred. Not to mention you performed oral sex on me at Saturday’s party.”

“What?” Greg asked in shock. Mycroft mirrored his reaction.

“You didn’t know?” Greg shook his head and let out a small gasp. “Oh...” Mycroft swallowed hard. “You weren’t half bad.” He said with an awkward cough. Greg started storming off. “Greg, where are you going?”

“I’m gonna give that _Phil_ a piece of my mind.”

“Greg, don’t-“

“Don’t touch me!” Greg screamed and shook off Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft felt a sharp sting of hurt in his chest. He pressed his back against the brick wall and buckled at the knees. He fell to the ground and sat in shock all through first period, just trying to keep breathing, but the tightness kept closing in on him, crushing him.

He pulled himself together. “It’s for the best.” He closed his eyes and sucked in his lower lip. “It’s for the best.” He repeated the mantra.

He felt the lowest he’d been in a while. His French teacher could have been speaking Farsi for all he cared. He kept mindlessly scribbling in his notebook. He drew broken heart after broken heart. He started drawing a tall cliff with children running off it mindlessly into an open abyss.

His attention was broken by the bell. He stood in the hall with the back of his head pressed against the wall, staring off into space. His thoughts were broken by the massive tow-headed boy blocking his view.

“You’re a poof then?” He laughed. Mycroft looked around and saw none of his normal crew. “Come on, you’re skiving.” Mycroft began to panic. He felt like his world had become surrealistic. He was led blindly into the boy’s car.

The seats were leaned back so far he was practically lying down. He felt a rush of adrenaline surge through his vessels. He didn’t want to die. He let out some shuddered breaths.

“Wh-where are w-we going?” Mycroft asked trying to retain some sort of composure.

“Kirkdale.” He smirked. They peeled out of the school and Mycroft clamped his eyes shut.

“What’s there?”

“The Ditch, you’ve had to have heard bout it by now.”

“Open sewer pipe, middle of nowhere, yes.” He took in some deep controlled breaths, just like the therapist said, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe Mycroft. His hands began to tremble.

“So nervous, you’ve got nothing to be scared of. I’ll take good care of ya.”

Mycroft’s stomach turned to ice. He felt a panic attack coming on. It was getting progressively worse with every fleeting second. He started to hyper-ventilate and before he started into a full fledged attack he reached into his bag and started digging.

“What’re you doing?” The boy swerved nervously on the road. Mycroft pulled out a pill bottle, withdrew two tablets, and placed them under his tongue without thinking twice about it. “What’s that?” The boy ripped the bottle out of his hand.

“No, don’t, I have a script for it.” Mycroft trying to pull the bottle back.

“Xanax? Xanax!” The boy was absolutely elated. “What else you got in there?”

“Ritalin.” Mycroft said with a gulp.

“Shit, got your own pharmacy, have you?” The boy licked his lips.

“My mother takes morphine tablets.” Mycroft said sinking into his seat. He started to calm down. His hands still had a slight intermittent tremor but he was coming to accept his fate.

“Have you got any of them?”

Mycroft nodded. “She was sleeping... so I took them.” He felt himself relaxing further, the tightness in his chest lifted. “I hate myself.” He sighed. “The Ritalin is for my brother, he can’t function without it; he can hardly function as it is. As for the morphine tablets, you can have them. I want her to quit, desperately. How could I have been so blind?” He thought out loud. “She sleeps, all day. I’m such an idiot for believing it was merely a side-effect of her depression.”

“Aren’t you boat-loads of fun?” The boy asked with an annoyed sigh.

“I never caught your name.”

“It’s Sebastian, friends call me Seb.”

“Sebastian then.” Mycroft rolled over and started dozing off.

“Party animal.” Was the last thing Mycroft heard before he started to snore. He used the Xanax sparingly and his therapist told him not to tell anyone he had it because it was easily abused. He felt powerless on the drug. His high anxiety controlled him and became a dominating part of his life.

He had anxiety even at Eton. His panic attacks were severe enough to make him doubt his sanity. He started out on Prozac which was still in early trials at that point. He got fat, wanted it all to end, and was taken off immediately. Mostly he just didn’t want to be fat.

He thought he’d gone mental. He was always so angry, why was he so angry? He wanted terrible things to happen to people, things he would never admit to their face in fear they’d lock him away. His father leaving exacerbated the problem.

His therapist didn’t understand him, couldn’t understand him, but she was really good at writing scripts. His mother loved labels. Doctors stuck him with several. Labels were comforting, labels meant they knew what the problem was; could even possibly treat it. SSRIs, MAOIs, NRIs, NaSSAs, tricyclics, side effects may include, take two every six, four every twelve, twelve every ten, eat with food, avoid direct sunlight, do not take on empty stomach, where protection when having vaginal intercourse, don’t talk with your mouth full, obey, obey, obey.

The medication messed with Mycroft’s better judgement. He was far too complacent for a normal person, or at least he thought. He would have never have succumbed to peer pressure before. Perhaps he was moulding into a proper teenager. The thought sickened him. He wanted to rise above the rest and now he’d become one of _them._

His car door opened and he was led like a sheep to the slaughter. Sebastian carried his backpack over one shoulder. They walked over a large hill and down into a valley where Mycroft saw the ten foot drainage pipe in the distance. It was tucked into the hill and well hidden from the road.

He stepped inside where there were flickering candles and at least twenty scruffy looking teens. He looked at the graffiti on the walls and started trying to read the hundreds of names.

Sebastian started showing his pill bottles to his friends, some of which Mycroft recognized from the first day of school.

“Those are mine.” Mycroft said holding his hand out for their return.

“You said I could have em.”

“The morphine tablets yes, the other two are to treat _actual_ medical conditions.” Mycroft felt anger well up in him. He was a little unsteady on his feet but it didn’t matter, if Sebastian wanted a fight he was going to get one. “Hand them over.” Mycroft hissed.

He saw Sebastian’s fist, heard the impact, but didn’t feel the pain until after he delivered a round-house kick to Sebastian’s face. Mycroft held his cheek bone that was stinging and throbbing. He winced and started making his exit. He strolled confidently until he reached daylight.

He started rubbing his knee and wincing. He kicked him a bit too hard and twisted his knee. A boy ran out with Mycroft’s backpack and dropped it ten feet away from him and ran, constantly checking behind him. It had been years since Mycroft took Taekwondo, but the classic Chuck Norris style round-house kick was usually enough to keep the tormentors at bay. He’d give Sebastian a week or so before he sought revenge.

* * *

He iced his face and stretched out on the sofa to watch telly. He placed the bag of ice on his knee that was starting to swell up. He really needed to work-out more. Two days a week of PE weren’t cutting it and with Sexual Education approaching, he would only have one day a week of mandatory exercise.

Mycroft was sent into a bit of shock when he saw his mother coming down the stairs.

“My, dear, what happened to your face?”

“Boy at school.” Mycroft tried to whip up some tears. Why did they come so easily for Sherlock? His mother walked over and brushed back his hair.

“What happened to your knee?”

“I was just resting the bag there for a moment, ten minutes on, ten minutes off.” He said with a nod. He placed the ice back on his face and winced.

“Shall I call the school?”

Mycroft nodded. “If you would.”

“You really shouldn’t run from your problems, My dear.”

“I know, mummy.” She brushed her thumb across Mycroft’s other cheek and gave him a sympathetic and light-hearted smile.

“What would your father say? All those Karate lessons he paid for.”

“Taekwondo.” Mycroft corrected.

“And fencing... but please don’t bring the sabre to school. There’s better ways of dealing with your anger. Did you try reasoning with the boy?” Mycroft was secretly pleased to be chided. He was starting to crave his mother’s attention.

“I did try, but it appears he’d rather speak with his fists.” His mother left to call the school and Mycroft grinned smugly and nestled into the sofa. His mother returned and looked furious, Mycroft feared the worst.

“They didn’t even know you were missing.” She said grinding her teeth. “At Eton if you were ten minutes late for lessons they’d send out a search party and would have your face plastered on the milk cartons before lunch.” Mycroft chuckled. “You seem rather placid about the whole affair. Have you been taking your medicine?” Mycroft let out a sigh and looked away. “I knew it was too soon to start up school again.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sherlock worries about you.”

“What has he said?” Mycroft tried to hide the terror in his eyes.

“Nothing, I can see it in his face. He loves you dearly.”

“Right.” Mycroft lifted his eyebrows.

“It’s true.” She took a seat next to him on the sofa and curled her legs up. “The poor thing, how’s he adjusting?”

“I think he has a girlfriend... perhaps even two.” His mother laughed. “One is a full year younger and likes to beat on him, the other loves him dearly and he won’t give her a passing glance.”

“Why do I get the strange feeling he’ll go for the one who bullies him?” They both laughed and Mycroft felt all his tension melt away momentarily. His mother’s cheerfulness faded slowly and she soon retreated up the stairs. Mycroft left to pick Sherlock up from school.

Sherlock was in shock when he saw his brother pick him up on time. He was talking to another little boy that had to be the most adorable child Mycroft had ever seen. The boy could easily get away with murder and Mycroft would probably just sit back and say, ‘Aw!’

Sherlock appeared to be glaring at the child, primed to attack. Mycroft walked up and stepped between them. “Sherlock, what seems to be the problem?”

“Jim pushed Irene down and she skinned her knees and... and...”

“I thought you hated Irene.”

“I do _not_.” Sherlock spat. “I hate _Jim_.”

“You can hate more than one person at a time, you’re capable of hating a lot of people; I’ve seen you do it.” Mycroft grabbed his brother’s hand.

“I don’t hold hands. Babies hold hands.” He hissed.

“You’d hold John’s hand.” Mycroft said with a smirk.

“Who’s John?” Jim asked with a wry little grin.

“He’s my friend and he’s killed before and he’ll do it again!” Sherlock shouted. Mycroft picked him up, placed him on his hip, and started walking. “Mycroft! You can’t carry me! I’m too big!” Sherlock thrashed and hit his brother in the shoulder with his clenched fists.

“Sherlock, you’re the smallest in your class, you weigh less than a feather.”

“Nuh uh. Jim’s smaller!” Sherlock gave up and let Mycroft carry him across the road and down the hill. Mycroft started noticing Sherlock yawning and shifted him to the front so he could lie his head down on his shoulder. Sherlock was fast asleep by the time he arrived home.

He laid him gently on the sofa and covered him up with the union jack throw blanket. He looked positively angelic when he was asleep. Sometimes Mycroft wished Sherlock would fall into a coma, a small one of course, just so he’d stay like that always. He pushed the disturbing thoughts aside and walked into the kitchen to find things relatively the same.

His mother hadn’t done the shopping and the cupboards were almost bare. Mycroft decided enough was enough. He’d load the lower cupboards full of food for Sherlock. He stole his mother’s purse and left swiftly and silently. He felt like everyone was staring at him at the store. He remembered his black eye and kept his head down.

He collided into another buggy and started apologising profusely. He recognised the old woman and was about to say something when Greg showed up. Greg dropped the tins in his hands.

“Mycroft! Sally wasn’t lying...” He grabbed Mycroft’s face in both hands and Mycroft pulled away uncomfortably. “You could’ve been killed.” Greg looked at him through tear filled eyes. “I’m so sorry, I swear, I _swear_ I’ll make it up to ya.”

“Um.” Mycroft’s eyes darted back to Greg’s grandmother.

“Oh right, Gran, you’ve met Mycroft right?”

“Michael?” She asked bringing a hand to her ear.

“Yeah sure, whatever.” He rolled his eyes at Mycroft. “Can he come to ours? Have tea wiv us?” She looked at him confused. “Tea!” He shouted. “Wiv!” He motioned to all of them. “Us!”

“Oh, tea.” She said with a look of surprise on her face. “Sure, why not?” She started pushing the buggy away.

“Mental, that one.” Greg shook his head. “What’re you out for?”

“Shopping.”

“No shit. I mean what for?”

“Food.”

“Funny one.” Greg said with a snarl.

“Sherlock will starve if I don’t pick up something ready-made.”

“Can the bastard use a tin opener?” Greg started roaming the aisles with him.

“No, he can hardly open packages.”

“He’s a special one.” Greg said with a laugh.

“He is blood.”

“Your blood.” Greg let out a heavy sigh. “Look, I was his age when I started staying home alone. Mum would buy tinned fruit, veg, which I’d never eat, and spaghetti. Teach him how to use the tin opener he’ll be set for life.”

“I suppose.”

“Look ravioli, hoops, loops, rings, is all the same shit.” Greg started loading his basket with tins. “Chili!” He threw the tin in.

“Doesn’t he have to heat these up?” Mycroft asked looking over the labels.

“Hot, cold, tastes the same. Like shit.”

“He hardly eats as it is.”

“Beans, beans, beans, every seven-year-old bachelor needs beans.”

“I’m not abandoning him for weeks at a time.”

“He’s a growing lad, he needs sustenance.” Greg smiled when he came upon the canned meats. “How about some spam?”

“He wouldn’t eat spam.”

“How’s about spam bacon and spam.”

“Greg, he wouldn’t-“

“Spam, spam, spam, spam-“

“Oh God, Gregory, don’t make a scene.”

“Spam, spam, spam, lovely spam! Wonderful spam!”

“Shut up! He doesn’t like spam!” Mycroft screeched. The store seemed to go dead silent. Greg started to snort with laughter.

They threw a couple tins of fruit in and Greg went to help his Gran in the check-out line. “You’ll come though right?” Greg put his hand together under on his chin, batted his eyes, and pouted his bottom lip.

Mycroft let out a loud sigh. “Fine. I’ll see you at seven.”

“Six it is then.” Greg said with a flirtatious smile.

* * *

Mycroft fell on to Greg’s bed defeated.

“I might as well have left him with a machete, the boy couldn’t work a tin opener to save his life, and it might well just save his life one day. He’s lost with or without me.” Mycroft’s eyes shot open. “Oh shit, I forgot his Ritalin.” He sat up to leave.

“Whoa, you just got here.” Greg said pushing him back down.

“If I don’t go home now there might not be a home to go back to.”

“He’ll be fine.” Greg said pressing back on Mycroft’s shoulders. “What’s the worst that can happen.”

“Mass homicide... a second holocaust... burning... and so much suffering.”

“The boy’s not _that_ evil.”

“He’s a devil child! You’ve seen the way he laughs at other’s pain.”

“Oh come on, in retrospect, the geyser of blood was kind of naff.”

Mycroft was secretly still having nightmares about Elm street. “I notice your room has stayed relatively clean.”

“Haven’t been home much, n’ when I have been I’m mostly downstairs.” Greg took a seat on the bed and started sprawling out. “Oh right.” He sat straight up. “Wanna see something?”

“Another pornographic magazine?” Mycroft grimaced.

“This one’s got blokes in it.” Greg smiled. Mycroft gave the idea a diffident shrug. Greg fell on to the floor and scrambled under his bed. His hips were wiggling and Mycroft couldn’t help but look at his backside.

Could a bottom be considered cute? Mycroft felt like Greg’s was the cutest bum he’d ever seen. He reached out a foot and gave it a gentle tap. When Greg withdrew from under the bed Mycroft pretended to be nonchalantly swinging his foot back and forth.

“Here.” Greg passed him the dirty rotten magazine. Mycroft started looking it over.

“French.”

“Oui. Check it out. They’re shagging.”

“What are you, twelve?” Mycroft laughed looking through the pages. “My... yes they are...”

“Magazines round here are nothing like this. They’re all soft-core.”

“They are certainly less hairy...”

“Men or women?”

“Both.” Mycroft grimaced. “They _are_ on the older side.” He tutted trying to find a couple that would pique his interest. “He should look at having that lazy eye corrected.”

“Oh Christ, look at the hair on that one!” Greg said stopping Mycroft’s hand. “Looks like he’s gone and tacked wall to wall shag carpeting on his chest.”

“God.” Mycroft said giving the photo a look of disgust. “He looks like the wolf man.”

“Look, he hasn’t any hair on his arms though.” They both laughed. “His belly is coated in fur though, yuck.” Greg turned to the next page. “Oh, don’t mind us, just shagging on a fishing boat.” He turned to the next page.

“I like that one.” Mycroft said, stopping his hand.

“He isn’t even naked.” Greg laughed.

“He is rather handsome.” Mycroft took the magazine and sat back. “He has a natural smile, a good strong chin, very robust manly features, and he looks like he keeps in shape.”

“Can’t see anything though.” Greg turned the page. “Oh... damn...” They both saw the handsome man stripping page by page and they weren’t disappointed by what they saw. Mycroft heard Greg let out a small grunt. Greg looked at him. “What?” The full nude shot was of him lying in bed comfortably with his cock out.

“That smile.” Mycroft said staring at the man’s face.

“It isn’t even hard.” Greg said concerned. “Look how big it is, isn’t even hard.” He repeated. Mycroft heard him gulp.

“Look at that cleft chin, just like yours.” Mycroft looked over at Greg. Greg quickly turned the page.

“Look two birds going at it.” Greg started blinking rapidly. “That’s hot.” He sputtered.

Mycroft turned the page back to the attractive man with the thick cock. “Could you imagine?” Mycroft’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Him.”

Greg swallowed hard. “Unh.” Was all he could get out. He gulped once more and shook his head. “I really need a wank, my zip is killing me.” Greg held out his hand. “Lube?”

“Oh right.” Mycroft grabbed the lubricant off the side table.

“I hear if you yank it dry you could fuck up the main drain, ya know?”

“I’ve never heard that.”

“Probably true, I dunno. Not taking any chances.” Greg undid his zip and started palming himself through his pants. He winced and shut his eyes. Greg opened one eye to see Mycroft looking. Mycroft looked away and pretended to be intently scanning the magazine. “Well... here it goes.” Greg said biting his bottom lip. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?”

Mycroft nodded and looked towards Greg’s hands that were working to release his cock. Greg shifted nervously.

“Should I look away?” Mycroft offered.

“No, no.” Greg let out a sigh. “Maybe if you, you know.” He looked toward Mycroft’s trousers briefly.

“Of course.” Mycroft started working to unbutton himself and held his hands on the waistband of his pants.

“Just feel... bit exposed is all.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Mycroft said nervously. He slid down his pants and trousers half way down his thighs and exposed himself first. He saw Greg’s eyes dart over and he couldn’t hold back a smile. Mycroft held up the magazine between them and started idly stroking himself, glancing over once and a while to see Greg’s bulge.

Greg finally took in a deep breath and fished himself out as well. They sat shoulder to shoulder on the bed looking over the man with the magnificent smile. Greg started lubricating himself and passed the bottle over to Mycroft who did the same.

“Left handed?” Mycroft said noticing Greg holding his half of the magazine open with his right hand.

“Nah, just... I dunno, feels like someone else.” He said looking Mycroft in the eyes.

“Would... you...” Mycroft swallowed hard. “Like a hand?” He said raising his eyebrows.

“Um... that’d be... good.” Greg shifted so their hips were touching. Mycroft lowered his left hand and ran it down Greg’s abs, he went straight down to the base of his cock and slowly stroked upward. Greg shut his eyes and Mycroft could see the magazine tremble in his hand.

Mycroft grinned and took away the distraction. He placed it on the bedside and started stroking Greg firmly, changing his grip slightly on the upstroke. He placed his palm flat on Greg’s prick and gripped it gently with the tips of his fingers, as he worked up the shaft his fingers drew in closer together until he reached the tip where he brought them as close together around the orifice as possible. He then slid down and outward, spreading out his fingers slowly. Greg’s hips bucked up and his ass tensed.

“God, that’s amazing.” He panted, clutching on to the bedding. “Whatever the hell you’re doing, don’t stop.” Mycroft drew one finger up, barely ghosting along Greg’s shaft, causing him to twitch. He shifted closer to stroke under Greg’s balls. He catalogued every response, whine, and whimper he received. Greg kept wriggling his hips for more.

Mycroft looked up; Greg’s eyes were clenched tight. He noticed him wetting his lips and clutching on to the pillow behind his head. Subconsciously he was suggesting that Mycroft take it a step further.

Mycroft shifted closer. He blew a stream of cold air on Greg’s cock causing him to squirm and whimper. He was chewing on his bottom lip and his eyes were shut so tight it looked like he was in excruciating pain.

Mycroft held his shaft in one hand, leaned in close, and ran a stiff tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, and Greg let out a shocked gasp. His eyes shot open and Mycroft took the opportunity to look up at him with an impish grin and give his prick a little kiss.

The babble coming out of Greg’s mouth was near infantile. He couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Mycroft shut him up when he slid his flattened tongue over the head of his cock and sucked him into his mouth.

Greg covered his face with his hands and let out a few loud ‘Oh’s and started breathing through his teeth. “Fuck.” He said with a long ‘fff’.

Greg drew up on to his elbows and his hips made a violent jerk. Mycroft pulled away and spit his load out. He kept spitting until the taste was cleared from his mouth. He clicked his tongue several times and shuddered.

“Bleh.” Mycroft said spitting once more.

“Gross?”

“Have a taste.” Mycroft drew up and ran his tongue over Greg’s lips and into his mouth.

“Aw yuck! I-“ He pushed Mycroft away gently. “Bah.” He said spitting. “Tissue.” Mycroft leaned over to grab a wad of tissues and began cleaning Greg up. Greg pulled out a few tissues and continued spitting. He even started licking one to get the taste out of his mouth.

Mycroft drew up on to his knees and Greg looked down. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Greg said looking over Mycroft’s flaccid penis.

“It’s fine.” Mycroft drew up his pants and trousers and started doing up his zip. “I owed you from Saturday.”

“Can’t believe I did _that._ ” He said shuffling to pull his jeans up.

“It wasn’t all bad.” Mycroft grimaced a bit.

“You’d do it again, then?” Greg asked with a grin.

“Perhaps.”

“Brilliant.” Greg said with a smile. “What?” He saw Mycroft staring at him.

“Nothing.” Mycroft said looking at him dazed. “You’re just...” Greg’s cheeks were flushed and he looked up at Mycroft with such an amazing twinkle in his dark eyes. It made him feel like he was the only other person in the world. He just couldn’t bring himself to look away. Greg’s face relaxed and he looked at Mycroft with such an endearing gaze.

Greg reached out to run a hand across Mycroft’s hip and down to his waiting fingers. The tips of their fingers brushed together and Mycroft felt a flutter in his chest. The words came tumbling out of Mycroft’s mouth before he had a chance to catch them.

“I love you.”


	4. Chapter 4

He was hovering, always hovering; it made Mycroft’s blood boil with rage. His mother had over-reacted, she didn’t have to call _him._

Somehow “I don’t want to live like this anymore.” Morphed into _‘I don’t want to live anymore.’_ His mother made frantic calls in the middle of the night, causing a panic in the family. Sherrinford reached the house before the crack of dawn.

Everything was taken from him and hidden away. Knives, ropes, wires. His mother found the morphine tablets; Mycroft started cursing himself. How could he be so stupid? The therapist was called, more scripts, tweak the doses, no they can’t admit him.

“What, are we supposed to wait until he _does_ kill himself?” Dead silence followed. His mother’s crassness was unwarranted as was Sherrinford’s constant surveillance.

His mother wanted him in a hospital, she couldn’t handle _this._ Hell, she couldn’t handle waking up in the morning. Mycroft buried his head in the sand and tried to remain civil but his brother kept pacing, watching him like a hawk. He didn’t have a moment to himself; even his bathing was monitored. It was only making matters worse.

He couldn’t bring himself to eat, he didn’t want to take any more medicine, and he just wanted to go back to school. He finally decided enough was enough. His brother should have been alerted when Mycroft walked up to the second floor, covertly stashing his wallet in his pocket as he made way into the bathroom. Sherrinford followed at a distance and Mycroft made his move.

He slammed the door shut and locked it. Sherrinford jiggled the handle and started shouting. Mycroft knew he didn’t have the luxury of time. He looked up to the roof-light and licked his lips in thought. He opened the linen cupboard and started dragging things out, stacking them on each other.

He could hear his mother screaming, the door started splintering from Sherrinford’s foot crashing into it. Mycroft started to panic, his stomach turned to ice, and he carried on as planned. He climbed his tower of Christmas ornament boxes, folded towels, and Sherlock’s step-stool. He started cranking the window open. It budged just barely enough for him to slip through.

A sharp corner caught his stomach as he was sliding through and started ripping skin. He winced in pain as it dug further. He kept crawling up through the window, determined not to turn back now. He crawled on top of the roof and accessed the damage.

The cut wasn’t deep enough to require stitches but it stung badly and was starting to bleed. He stood up and started walking to the edge of the house. He looked down at the dizzying height and clung on to the cobble-stone chimney. He took in some deep breaths and felt his hands starting to sweat.

He wiped his hands on his shirt and started his decent. It wouldn’t be long before they figured out he’d escaped. His mother would have called 999 by now; he’d have a five minute head-start on the police. He started running, not looking back.

* * *

“Mycroft?” John stepped outside his building and looked Mycroft over. He had his back pressed to the door and a set of keys clutched in his hand.

“Please, let me in.” Mycroft could hardly stand and was ready to pass out from exhaustion.

“I-I can’t.” John stammered. He looked at Mycroft’s shirt and turned pale. “Do you need to go to hospital?”

“No. I need a place to stay.”

John started rubbing his arm and biting his lip. He nodded tentatively. He turned and let Mycroft inside. They started ascending the winding staircase. “Why aren’t you at school anymore?” John’s voice quivered a bit.

Mycroft ignored the question and continued climbing, wincing, and grabbing his abdomen. John stopped in front of his door and let out a sigh. He closed his eyes, put the key in the lock, and turned it. He started pushing open the door with his shoulder.

Mycroft could see why John didn’t want him to stay over. He tried not to look at the floor but the ceiling wasn’t much better. “How do you live like this?” The floor was littered with rubbish, empty beer bottles and cans, empty tins, wadded up newspaper, wrappers, plastic bags, old clothes, towels; the stench was palpable.

“I don’t, this is all my sister. My room’s this way.” John said trudging through the rubbish. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” John said looking forward. “See.” John opened the door to his room and bottles and cans started spilling in. He grabbed them and chucked them back into the sitting room. Mycroft looked around the tidy room. It was a stark contrast to the horror of the front room. The walls were painted a bright yellow which wasn’t all together atrocious. The walls were adorned with footballers and luxury cars. It was entirely age appropriate. Mycroft hummed in thought.

“What does your social worker say about the state of the place?”

John shrugged. “When she does surprise visits we hide and pretend we’re not home. On the scheduled ones I pick up, doesn’t take long, mostly rubbish. The new one hasn’t come round in ages.”

Mycroft sunk into a chair, threw his head back, and stared at the ceiling. He was sickened by it all. He couldn’t wallow in his own self pity with the blatant misfortune of others staring him in the face. He was suddenly envious of John. He had a reason to be not right in the head and yet he was a perfectly normal child.

“Greg is a bad influence on you.” Mycroft said with a sigh.

“How d’you mean?” John asked taking a seat on his bed.

“Drinking, smoking... John you’re above all that. Look at the state of the flat; yet you maintain a sense of order and control.”

“I don’t have any other friends to hang out with.”

“You have Sherlock.”

“He’s seven.” John snorted.

“And yet you two are as happy as larks together.”

“Yeah but-“

“Stop caring about what others think, they’re useless. You’ll go on to do great things while they end up destitute, living off the street.”

“Thanks... I think.” John said shifting uncomfortably. He kept looking at Mycroft’s blood stained shirt. “Are you trying to teach them a lesson? Your parents, I mean.”

“No. She just needs time to cool off.”

“So... you’ve run away before?”

“Briefly. I usually return home before supper. I believe I might have to wait this one out.”

“Won’t she worry?”

“For a time. It’s no different than before.”

Mycroft was _very_ mistaken.

* * *

John returned to the hide-out with a flyer with Mycroft’s face on it. “You’re a missing person!” John was beaming as he passed the poster to Mycroft who laughed.

“Why did they use _that_ picture?” Mycroft smiled at his mug-shot that was two years outdated. He was in his Eton uniform looking like a complete dork with his fake smile that was all teeth.

“You’re like a fugitive, running from the law.”

“Yes... you know it’s just as bad harbouring a fugitive as it is actually being one.”

“Oh, I know.” John said taking the paper away so he could tack it on to his wall under the poster of a vintage Aston Martin.

“What are the others saying about my disappearance?”

“I thought you didn’t care about what others say about you.”

“I could use a good bit of gossip, I’ve been cooped up in here for ages.”

“One day is not _ages.”_ John laughed. “Mostly they just think you were kidnapped.”

“It would make for an interesting story.” Mycroft hummed. He thumbed through John’s copy of _Lord of the Flies._ “It will take several lifetimes to make up all the coursework I’ve missed.”

“I have three papers due and I haven’t even started.” John sighed pecking at his shoe.

“I could write them for you if you’d like.”

“They’re hand-written.”

“Oh, shame.” Mycroft was starting to become increasingly bored with the lack of mental stimulation. Most boys his age would be elated wasting the day away.

“Saw Greg crying in the boy’s room today.”

“John, what did I say about-“

“Thought you oughta know.” John blurted out.

“It doesn’t matter.” Mycroft sighed. The night he told Greg he loved him, Greg’s face told all. He wanted nothing to do with Mycroft; he was just an extra hand. Boys experimented with boys, it wasn’t uncommon. At Eton mutual masturbation was everywhere. Perhaps it was a bit strange that Greg sought Mycroft out in a co-ed school but it was no different. Mycroft was ready and willing whereas girls his age were not.

John was really enjoying Mycroft’s company. He obviously didn’t get the chance to speak much in school and seemed to save it all for Mycroft. He blabbed on and on about the goings on at the school. Mycroft found himself irrevocably drawn to his banter.

“We should make a ransom note! You know with bits of torn up newspaper, ask for a million quid or summat.” John said near jumping with joy.

“We could get into serious trouble if it was traced back to us.”

“We’re already in loads of trouble as it is.”

“I’d rather not work my mother into a panic.”

“And you don’t think running away has her worried out of her mind?”

“As I’ve said before and I’ll say it again, she needs time to calm down.” Mycroft said confidently.

John looked at him strange. “You’ve been missing for days now. She isn’t going to calm down, Mycroft.”

“Give it time.” Mycroft said with a sigh. John looked down at his hands.

“What did you run away for? You never did say.” He wringed his hands nervously.

“They were smothering me, I had to get away.”

“Why weren’t you in school though?”

“They thought I needed time off.”

“Why?”

“John, it’s none of your concern.” Mycroft said picking up another book to read through.

“Kind of is... you being my friend n’ all.”

“Friend?” Mycroft scoffed. “We’re not _friends_.”

“What?”

“You’re my brother’s playmate. We’re only amiable through association.” Mycroft gave him a look.

“Maybe you should leave then.” John said standing up. “If we aren’t friends.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “If Liverpool has taught me one thing, friends are not necessarily your greatest ally.” John gave him a confused look. “Consider you and me allied forces. I value that much higher than friendship.”

“So if I go to war...”

“I’ll be there, right by your side to fight with you, no matter the circumstances.”

John considered it. “You did knock Sebastian Moran’s front teeth out, and he’s at least three times the size of me.” Mycroft laughed heartily.

* * *

Mycroft returned home on his own terms. He spent the week with John, to ensure Sherrinford would be back in London, he didn’t need his elder brother stirring the pot. He returned on a Sunday so he could attend school the following day.

He approached the front door confidently, gave it a few raps, and waited. He started grooming himself; he didn’t have a change of clothes and was really looking forward to changing into something fresh and not blood-stained. He waited for what felt like a very long time. Perhaps his mother was still asleep.

It was near seven, it wasn’t entirely out of the question. He didn’t see Sherlock’s head poking out the window either. Strange.

He gave the door a few more knocks and rang the bell. The door swung open and Mycroft near wet himself from fright. His father’s golden eyes shone down on him with a ferocious fire behind them. He started shaking and putting his hands up in defence.

His father dragged him into the reception area and began yelling to the point Mycroft’s ears started ringing. He was outraged. Mycroft started wheezing for breath. He didn’t expect this, nor did he want this. His father’s jugular was sticking out clearly. He was a frightening man when he was angry and the most unassuming gentleman when he wasn’t.

He towered over Mycroft, he was at least six four, and sheer muscle. He saw far too much of Sherlock in his father’s eyes. He knew Sherlock would grow up to be just as terrifying if he wasn’t tamed now.

“You had me worried sick!” He screamed. Mycroft’s heart sank further than it had ever before. His breath hitched in his throat and the tightness in his chest cut off all airflow. He stumbled forward and collapsed into his father’s arms.

He came to, sprawled out on the sofa. There was shouting and crying in the other room. Sherlock stood at his side, scowling.

“He didn’t bring the set I asked for.” Sherlock crossed his arms. “All cos you ran away. You’re so selfish.”

“Pot... kettle.” He poked Sherlock’s belly, causing him to jerk away. Mycroft laughed lightly.

While their parents played the blame game and shouted at each other in the kitchen, Sherlock started playing cards with Mycroft who lay on the sofa, lazily holding his cards, looking at them disinterestedly.

“Any threes?” Sherlock asked. He peaked over to see Mycroft’s hand. “Ta.” He smiled taking away all of Mycroft’s threes. Mycroft shut his eyes and Sherlock continued to play as if he was actively participating. Mycroft stayed in a state of half-consciousness until Sherlock declared, “I win.” Mycroft let out a grunt. “I wish you’d stop being so dramatic, it’s starting to get _really_ annoying.” Sherlock said lifting his eyebrows. “Jim taught me a card game, would you like to play?” Mycroft shrugged. “Fifty-two pickup.” Sherlock smiled and dumped the cards on to his brother’s head. He started flicking at Mycroft’s ear. “I like it when you’re like this, I can do anything I want.” Sherlock started dancing around the sofa. “And you can’t do a thing about it.” He stuck his tongue out and started teasing him.

“Quit it.” Mycroft groaned.

“Make me.” Sherlock stood on the coffee table and launched a wad of spit up into the air; it arched and landed directly in Mycroft’s ear. Mycroft jolted up and started chasing Sherlock, who started giggling with delight.

They thundered up the stairs like a herd of elephants. Sherlock ran straight up to Mycroft’s room, launched himself on to Mycroft’s bed, and started jumping on it with his shoes on. Mycroft grabbed him by the ankle and Sherlock’s back hit the mattress with a thud.

“You little... brat.” Mycroft said climbing on the bed. He rolled Sherlock over on to his belly and sat on his back.

“You’re crushing me! You’re too fat!”

Mycroft ripped off Sherlock’s left shoe and sock. “What did you call me?”

“Fat! You’re a big fatty!” Sherlock screamed and squirmed as Mycroft tickled the sole of his foot. “Stop it!” Mycroft let out a malicious laugh.

“Never!” He grabbed Sherlock by his ribs and Sherlock let out a loud belly laugh. Sherlock screamed for mercy and wiggled to try break free.

“I can’t breathe.” He gasped. Mycroft shifted off of him. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. He rolled over and slapped Mycroft smartly across the face. “Never leave me again!” He screamed.

* * *

The waiting room at his therapist was completely empty. Mycroft’s mother sat beside him, shifting in her seat nervously. He just wanted to be cleared to go back to school. He had to play his cards right, take the scripts without questioning it, and keep his calm.

He was called in and they immediately started going over his journal which he filled with typical teenage anecdotes.

_This is stupid. Watched telly today, wrote in journal._

He didn’t reveal much to his therapist. For one, he wasn’t comfortably talking to her. He always managed to walk away with a new script when he said anything out of the ordinary. For two, she didn’t believe anything should be kept from the patient’s parents and went against all forms of doctor-patient confidentiality. His mother adored the woman because she sympathized with her and would write her scripts without question. She didn’t normally work with adolescents and it showed.

They went over 1-10 scales: frequency of suicidal thoughts, sadness level, and general anxiety social or otherwise.

“Are you sexually active?”

Mycroft felt his pulse quicken. He took a moment to respond. “No.” She jotted something down in her notes. Mycroft felt panicked. Why did he respond like that? It was a simple enough question. “What does it matter if I am or not?” He blurted out.

“Are you?”

“No.” He said defensively.

“Have you been using any recreational drugs?”

“No.” Mycroft said shortly. She started jotting down something in her notes again.

“Do you drink alcohol?”

“No.”

“Smoke?”

“No.” Mycroft felt his heart pounding in his chest. His finger tips tightened on his chair. He started letting out slow controlled breaths.

“How is your anxiety right now?”

“Two.” Mycroft said with a choke.

“Mycroft.” She said with a chiding tone.

_All right! I’ve smoked cannabis, drank massive quantities of alcohol, and I’ve been popping Ritalin and Morphine tablets in a frail attempt to self medicate because the pills I’m on are tearing my stomach to pieces. I can’t think straight. I’m being black-mailed and bullied at school. I told a boy I hardly know I love him and now my father wants me to leave Sherlock all alone with my doped up mother because he loves ME more than HIM! You stupid bitch! I hate you! Write a script for that, why don’t you?_

“I’m fine.” He said with a charming smile.

Mycroft left the office with instructions to return to school. He grinned smugly and noticed the defeated look on his mother’s face. “What’s wrong, mummy? Don’t you want me to return to school?”

“I just want you better.” She said with a sigh.

“I am better.” He smiled. “We all have our lows, nothing to fret about, mummy dear.”

Mycroft became the talk of the school when he returned. Everyone stayed far away and spoke behind his back. John came bounding up to him and Mycroft could tell he was restraining from hugging him. “Can I play with Sherlock after school?”

“For the millionth time, John-” Mycroft groaned.

“Don’t give two shits what people think now. They are pawns in my master game.”

“Oh dear Lord.” Mycroft said rubbing his forehead.

“So can I? Huh?” John asked excitedly.

“What’s stopping you?”

“I wanted to make sure all was quiet on the front-lines, you know, ‘fore I go charging into battle. _Battle buddy_.” He nudged Mycroft’s arm with his fist and Mycroft closed his eyes and wished the little nuisance away.  “Ooh! Can we play Risk? I have it at my place I could-“

“John.”

“Yes?”

“Calm.”

“Right.” John took in a deep breath his mouth and held it.

“It’s in through the nose, out through the mouth.”

John burst out into giggles. Mycroft noticed Greg out of the corner of his eye and walked right past him, ignoring him completely. He smiled to himself at the small accomplishment. He strode up confidently to Sebastian and extended a hand.

“I am willing to draw up a treaty, a truce.” Mycroft said extending his hand further. “I’m willing to offer you and yours full access to my pharmaceuticals. In exchange, I would like protection.” Sebastian straightened up. “Additionally, Phillip Adler, has in his possession suggestive photographs that I would like destroyed.” John clutched at the straps of his backpack nervously. Sebastian let out a laugh and Mycroft saw his missing teeth. He shook Mycroft’s hand firmly and Mycroft gave him his best smile. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” Sebastian said with a grin.  Mycroft walked away with his head held up high.

“Mycroft, what’d you do that for? You just sold your soul to the devil!” John whispered.

Mycroft tutted, placed his hands behind his back, and spun on his heels to face John. “I don’t _have_ a soul.” He smirked. The bell rang and everyone started scurrying to first period. “I refuse to be the victim any longer.” Mycroft said dismissively into the air.

* * *

Mycroft’s rise to power was rapid and forthcoming. He reigned supreme, he was top of his class, adored by his teachers, and feared by his peers. Sebastian was extremely loyal though Mycroft kept his praise to a minimum so his head didn’t swell with pride. He provided a grand decoy, Mycroft didn’t need a bodyguard, if cornered he could take care of himself with dignity and poise.  

John worked as an informant, keeping him up to date on the happenings of the school. John was an unassuming shadow and had a direct line to Sally who was the queen of gossip.

“Word is Susan is _pregnant._ ” Mycroft told Sebastian as they enjoyed a smoke outside of the school’s grounds. Mycroft strolled confidently, twirling an umbrella in his hand. The weather called for rain but Mycroft hadn’t seen a drop all day. He thought the umbrella added a bit of charm to his appearance. It also made a good weapon in a pinch.

“Who’s the father?” Sebastian asked flicking his cigarette into the street.

“Anderson.”

“Tommy?” Sebastian scratched his head. “We got some sort of vendetta wiv em, boss?”

“No.” Mycroft said with a long drawl. “We should let him know we know though, shouldn’t we? It would be the _kind_ thing to do.” Mycroft looked over his fingernails and focused in on a bit of dirt under his middle finger. “Send his parents a letter of congratulations, on behalf of Susan and her family.”

“I’ll start on it this evenin.”

“Have it on my desk before first period.” Mycroft slung his umbrella over his shoulder and took one last draw of his cigarette before flinging it into the street. “I hear Tobias Gregson has joined our ranks.”

“Paid his fee this morning.”

Mycroft beckoned his palm and Sebastian pulled out a wrinkled tenner. “Very well then.”

“You coming to the Ditch tonight?”

“Perhaps I’ll make my appearance. If I’m not busy.”

Mycroft found himself miserably free at the end of the day. He sat in the back of the bus with John. He twirled his umbrella handle and let out a solemn sigh. John was unusually quiet. Mycroft looked over at him and noticed he was holding an envelope tightly in his hands. He leaned over to get a good look of it. It was unlabeled and therefore was meant to be hand-delivered.

“Who’s it for?” Mycroft asked straightening up in his seat. He rested both hands on his umbrella and looked at John intently.

“You.” John said with a gulp.

“Afraid I’ll kill the messenger?” Mycroft asked with a grin. “Hand it over.” He said gently. John’s hand shook as he handed the envelope over.

Mycroft held the envelope up to the light and turned it over a few times. He pinched the envelope between his fingers. “Lined paper, torn from a notebook. Spiral bound. There’s something else inside... semi-gloss...” Mycroft looked towards John who had his head down, staring at the ground.

Mycroft opened the envelope slowly. He pulled out the contents and unfolded them. Mycroft felt a flutter in his stomach looking at the familiar Frenchman with the beautiful smile. The model was fully dressed, looking off camera, and beaming with a natural smile. Mycroft folded the page up and tucked it away in the envelope.

He held the piece of lined paper in his hands but couldn’t bring himself to read it in front of John. He waited until John and he parted ways. Mycroft stopped just short of the Ditch and sat on the hill. He began to read:

_Mycroft,_

_We need to talk_

_Meet me at mine_

_Tonight_

_Greg L._

Mycroft folded the paper several times, flattened the creases, and made a stealth bomber-style paper aeroplane. He let the wind take it. The plane did several flips before spiralling out of control into the distance. Mycroft stood, brushed off his trousers, and descended the hill.

His comrades greeted him warmly. Sebastian respected the hands-off policy and guided him further back into the sewer pipe. A chair sat in the middle of a ring of candles that were drooling hot wax on to the cold cement floor. Seated in the chair was a wiry blond boy who was far too relaxed for Mycroft’s liking.

“Toby, Toby. What do you have to offer us today?” Mycroft said strolling in front of Toby’s chair.

“I, um, gave Seb the tenner.” Toby wasn’t so sure of himself any more. Mycroft could feel the tension in the air. He gently kicked up some stagnant water purposefully splashing Toby’s exposed ankle. Toby shifted uncomfortably, not daring to wipe his ankle dry.

“You don’t seem to understand.” Mycroft sighed. “Shall I have Sebastian explain it to you?”

Sebastian cracked his knuckles purposefully and rolled his neck at his shoulders.

“You can’t waltz in here empty handed and expect us to willingly render our goods and services. That would be taking advantage of the system. You wouldn’t want to take advantage of the system, would you?”

“They’re planning a coup.” Toby blurted out suddenly.

Mycroft’s face turned. “Who?”

“The stoners. They want the Ditch back.”

“Give me names!” Mycroft shouted. Sebastian wrenched back Toby’s chair causing Toby to flail.

“Watson!” Toby shouted grabbing on to the seat of his chair for dear life. Sebastian near dropped his chair and Toby flailed again.

Mycroft stood in shock. “Sixth formers... sixth formers want to take over the Ditch.” Mycroft stepped in close, his nose just barely an inch away from Toby’s “Did John know?”

Toby gulped and started to falter. “I-“

“ _Did. John. Know_?” Mycroft punctuated sharply, hissing through his teeth.

Toby shook his head. Mycroft stood up straight and let out a sigh. “Good, we’ll need him on our side. His sister won’t succeed in seizing the Ditch. I need guards posted at all hours. Good work Toby.” Mycroft pulled away and started walking toward the exit. “I need more names, friends of Harriet’s. Get me intell, we’ll take them down one by one, thin them out.”

“It isn’t sixth formers.” Toby shouted behind him.

“What?” Mycroft turned on his heels.

“Harry’s mates are from the University.”

“Why would they come up here?” Mycroft said with a squeak. He cleared his throat.

“It’s within walking distance of the stadium. They’re looking for a place to celebrate after matches. The venue is well hidden, plenty large enough-“

“I know.” Mycroft snapped. He started pacing. “Once they start coming here to celebrate it’s only a matter of time before they start claiming it as their own, throwing out any high school students.”

“We found it first.” Sebastian said childishly.

“Yes and in their eyes we’re just children squatting on their property.” Mycroft rubbed at his forehead. “We must branch out. Make alliances within the University. We need sixth-formers on our side and I need a list of who’s shagging who. We might have to have some of the tarts start dating _up_.”

The idea of losing his head-quarters made Mycroft’s skin crawl. He didn’t claw his way to the top for nothing. He had the school wrapped around his little finger; if he lost the landmark hang-out he’d be over-thrown. He put too much time and energy into this to have it fall apart at the seams.

* * *

He returned home and found Sherlock holding a tea towel covered in blood. He stood watching John searching the floor. Mycroft walked over to watch John crawl on the floor, desperately running his hands through the carpet.

“Sherlock lost his tooth.” John said standing up on to his knees.

“I see.” Mycroft looked at Sherlock’s smile and noticed one of his top incisors missing.

“No, he _really_ lost it. I can’t find it anywhere.” John kept searching the carpet.

“John, you have to find it or the tooth fairy won’t come.” Sherlock said with an impish smile. Mycroft saw Sherlock fiddling with something in his hands behind his back.

“I’m looking.” John said sticking his head under the sofa. Sherlock revealed the tooth hiding in his hand to his brother. Mycroft shook his head and smiled.

“John, it’s his first tooth, how could you lose it?” Mycroft chided. Sherlock fought laughing so hard his face was turning red. Mycroft thought he’d add fuel to the fire and mouthed to his brother _‘Cry’._

Sherlock forced out shuddered breaths. “J-John.” He whimpered. “M-my first toof.” He sniffled loudly and wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve.

John pulled his head out from under the sofa and glared at Sherlock. “It’s in your hand, isn’t it?” Sherlock burst out into loud belly laughter. John let out an annoyed huff. “He had me looking for it for thirty minutes!”

“Sherlock.” Mycroft scolded him lightly.

“Molly’s lost seven already.” Sherlock said tonguing the empty socket.

“What about your other girlfriend?” Mycroft jeered.

“She hasn’t lost any yet.” Sherlock said indifferently.

“Wish I had a girlfriend.” John said with a sigh.

“You can have one of mine.” Sherlock offered. “Take Irene, she bites.”

“Thanks but I have my eyes on someone... taller.”

“Sally isn’t interested nor will she ever be.” Mycroft said bitterly. 

“A man can dream, can’t he?” John said collecting his backpack.

“Tell your sister hi for me.” Mycroft said patting John on the shoulder as he left. Mycroft tried making a somewhat balanced dinner, spaghetti hoops, green beans, and peaches; Sherlock stole away with the tin of peaches and drank the heavy syrup, leaving the peach slices intact. “You need to eat, you’re a growing boy.”

“The sit-down-shut-up-medicine makes me full.”

Mycroft had a thought. “What if we took you off the sit-down-and-shut-up medicine?” Sherlock looked up at him. “As an experiment.”

“A secret experiment?”

Mycroft nodded. “Starting tonight.”

“Won’t I burn down major cities though? You said.”

“I was being facetious.” Mycroft pushed his food around with his fork. “Maybe if you try and behave off the medicine, mummy won’t make you take it ever again.”

“But I like running into traffic. It makes the cars go _screech._ ” He mimicked cars crashing into one another with his utensils.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft said with a disapproving tone.

Off his medication, over the course of a few days, Sherlock’s attitude began to morph dramatically. Mycroft began to worry when Sherlock started sitting still for more than ten minutes at a time. He was able to concentrate for long periods of time, hyper-focusing on the task at hand; to the point he was non-responsive when he was absorbed in something he found interesting.

He often walked in to find Sherlock in a pensive pose with his fingers steepled together, pressing into his chin. Sometimes he wouldn’t speak for hours on end.

John would bring out the best in Sherlock though.

“It’s like... more natural now that’s he’s not drugged up, ya know?” John said rolling the die and moving his pawn into the billiard room. “He’s like... more Sherlock now than ever.”

“Since when did _Sherlock_ become an adjective?” Mycroft scoffed. Mycroft rolled the die and moved three spaces. “Your turn, Sherlock.”

“You know... I can hear you when you say things about me.” Sherlock said staring at his pawn.

“You looked like you were daydreaming again.”

“I’m not daydreaming, I’m sorting my thoughts.” Sherlock said furrowing his brows. “I’d like to make an accusation.”

“Sherlock, we’ve only just rolled our second turn.” Mycroft said with a sigh.

“Mrs White, Rope, Kitchen.” Sherlock said confidently. He grabbed the envelope and slid them out for the other two to see.

“Not even close!” John laughed. “Reverend Green, the dagger, in the Study!”

“Ha! You two lose.” Sherlock laughed. They both looked at him strange. “You both looked at the cards and _I_ didn’t. So what was it... hm? Reverend Green, with the dagger, in the study. Oh look at that, I win.” He lifted his eyebrows and laid the cards out on the table.

“Give me the rules damnit.” John reached into the box and started thumbing through the rules.

“I’m done playing with you two; I have better things to do.” Mycroft said standing up to retreat to his bedroom. He held Greg’s latest letter in his hand, clutching it loosely between his fingertips.

Mycroft let out a slow breath and locked the door. He licked his lip and started peeling open the envelope. Inside was _the_ photo. Mycroft’s breath hitched as he saw the naked man lying in bed. He placed the page on the bed and went into his dresser to pull out the others. He felt a dull throb in his groin, spreading out the pages of the magazine on his bed. Mycroft kneeled beside his bed.

He grabbed the other letters and started reading through them again:

_Mycroft,_

_I still want to talk._

_I’ll be at mine waiting._

_Greg L._

_Mycroft,_

_Please, I want to talk_

_I’ll be there waiting_

_Always_

_Greg L._

Mycroft opened up the last letter and unfolded it gently, laying it on the bedspread.

 

_Mycroft,_

_This is my last letter_

_I just want you to know_

_I will wait for you_

_Always_

_Greg L._

Mycroft shut his eyes and lay his forehead on the piece of paper. He couldn’t make the same mistake over and over again, he just couldn’t. He lifted his head, collected the papers and photographs, and placed them at the bottom of his sock drawer.

He held on to the photo of the fully naked man and found himself staring into his eyes. He scanned down the page to the man’s exposed penis. Mycroft’s brain started to get cloudy. He stood by the dresser gazing intently at the photograph.

He palmed at his crotch and let out a hum. He slid down his zip and brushed his finger tips over his savage organ. It sent a small tingle throughout is body. He looked at the photo and felt the blood flow increase, causing him to stiffen and start to ache. He shifted on his feet and closed his eyes.

He licked his lips and dove his hands down the front of his pants. He titled his head back and let out a small sigh. The swelling increased and he could feel it pulse against his fingertips. The pressure started building as he stroked himself gently, looking ashamedly at the model’s prick. He winced as he felt the skin start to tighten. He let go and looked down to see himself fully erect.

“Ow.” It throbbed painfully and made it difficult to walk to his bed. He clutched on to the photo, having a strong feeling this one wasn’t going to go away on his own. He crawled under the covers and pulled his trousers down around his ankles and released the beast from his pants. He threw his head back against the pillow and held the photo up. The light from his ceiling lamp cast through the thin paper making it transparent.

He turned it over to see the article on the other side. Who reads the articles? Honestly. He shifted his hips and spread out his legs. He started reading about the Frenchman named Eddie. He felt oddly turned-on by the words describing the man’s life and hobbies. Mycroft started stroking himself with earnest under the sheets.

He spit onto the palm of his hand, yearning for some of Greg’s lubricant. Greg crept into his thoughts. The of the boy’s V-shaped abs made Mycroft start drooling inadvertently. Mycroft started pining for his body against his, his lips, supple and soft with the lingering taste of cherry chapstick, pressed against his. Mycroft got goose bumps all over his upper arms, his breathing became laboured, and he shut his eyes tight.

The warmth in his groin increased from a dull flame to a roaring fire. “Greg.” He whispered with a small whimper. He cut himself short a few times before fully giving into the sensation. He went blind with pleasure and started making small noises in the back of his throat. He felt a chill run through him and his hips lifted up, thrusting into his palm. His mind flashed images of Greg’s naked and lithe form.

He felt his thighs go stiff, his knees go weak, and the world seemed to open up as he exploded into his hand. The sensation was over in a matter of seconds but left him completely relaxed. He grabbed a tissue and wiped the spunk of his hand. He wadded the tissue up and threw it across the room, missing the waste-bin by a mile.

He threw his head against the pillow and slept with a wry grin on his face.

* * *

He dreamt of pink elephants and falling trees. He awoke in a delirium; still half-seeing things. It was four in the morning and he was wide awake. He flipped on his light and set to sorting out his various pills.

He was stable but at what cost? His face felt like it was sunburnt and tight, he couldn’t sleep at normal hours, and he wasn’t eating well. Whenever he ate or drank before nine, he vomited. He swore this must be what it’s like to be pregnant.

Wellbutrin, three times a day, Xanax twice daily, Phenobarbital three times daily, Benadryl as needed, and lithium, to top it off, once daily. He was a very well medicated youth. He was advised to avoid baking soda and cheese, which concerned him deeply.

Often the drug interactions were synergistic. He could blank out for hours on the sofa, drooling. He thought his therapist enjoyed watching him suffer before finding the proper dosage.

His classmates envied him for how much school he missed. His mother checked on him constantly when he was sleeping. If he cleared his throat in his sleep he was allowed to stay home the next day.

Mycroft got the feeling his mother was starting to fear him. He knew she feared his father and what he’d do to her if Mycroft fell ill. He wasn’t certain what he’d do with this new discovery. Exploit it? Perhaps.

He already could get away with murder. He grew bored of his lack of boundaries and resistance. It was far too easy to get what he desired. He needed a challenge.

Sherlock was apt to provide that challenge. He caused Mycroft’s stomach to turn and would send him into a panic. Mycroft couldn’t seem to control the boy like everyone else. He was far too free-willed and dangerously so.

Sherlock was becoming too clever for his brother. He cared little about the consequences for his actions because he knew there were none. One could yell at Sherlock until their face turned blue and Sherlock would just yawn and walk away.

If he needed something from Mycroft’s room, he took it. Door locks just provided a fun little exercise of his superior lock-picking skills. Sherlock could pick a lock faster than a normal person could turn a door handle. He had all of the tumblers in the house memorized and was highly talented with a hairpin.

He’d barge into Mycroft’s room unannounced and root through his travelling chest. This time he pulled out an antique magnifying glass and looked it over. He stood silently and went over to Mycroft’s window and pulled back the curtains. He looked upward towards the sky.

He rolled the handle of the magnifying glass in his hand, deep in thought.

“Setting out to burn some ants?” Mycroft asked looking up from his book.

“No.” Sherlock said with a long bored drawl.

“Where’s John?” Mycroft furrowed his brows. John had started spending his weekends at the Holmes household. His mother even had the pleasure of actually meeting the boy who had been walking Sherlock home for over two months now.

“Busy.” Sherlock said letting a small sigh escape through his nose. He turned from the window. He was a much more reserved child now, though he had his bouts of hyper-activity when John was over.

“Busy?” Mycroft said with a light chuckle. “Busy with what?”

“He has _friends_ now.” Sherlock said with a sneer.

Sherlock’s jealousy was visible. “John _i_ s allowed to have friends other than you.” Mycroft reminded him. He returned his attention to his book.

“It doesn’t give him the right to ostrich-a-size me.” Sherlock said gripping the magnifying glass tightly. Mycroft bit back a smile.

“Ostracise, Sherlock.” He chuckled.

“That’s what I said.” Sherlock snapped at him indignantly. 

“If you’re going to be a petulant little child, John will never want to hang out with you.” Mycroft said with a sigh. He laid his head back on his pillow and half-closed his eyes. He managed to catch the magnifying glass by its handle after Sherlock lobbed it at his head. “Thank you.” Mycroft pointed to the door and Sherlock stormed off angrily.

Mycroft withdrew the magazine pages from under his pillow and started reading them over. He instantly felt a rush of hormones. His heart pounded in his chest looking at the naughty photos. His mouth started going dry.

Sometimes all he saw was Greg in the photographs. He’d wank, shamelessly thinking about the boy that haunted his dreams. He often dreamt they were still together. He started toying with the thought of finding a new boyfriend.

Sebastian expressed interest but Mycroft didn’t like his face, which could be a major problem when it came to arousal. The dental implants did little to help Sebastian’s facial features. He also had bad skin and nasty break-outs. Mycroft couldn’t be any less attracted to the brute.

Superficially, the other boys at the school weren’t much better. It seemed Mycroft had the pick of the litter when Greg decided to ruin his life. Mycroft refrained from smoking anything other than tobacco and didn’t drink like his counterparts. He was never pressured or coerced into doing something against his wishes. He should be happy without Greg.

He wasn’t.


End file.
